The Ones Who Stand Around the Tree

I’d walked for hours down that road,
My countenance a steady frown.
As dusk arrived, my feet had slowed,
And thus I found that dismal town.

A chilling breeze made folk withdraw;
It danced in twirls across my skin,
I wondered at the sights I saw,
The place I’d found myself within.

A simple hamlet, cobblestones,
With grassy patches here and there,
And something else, which shook my bones,
The tree within the village square.

I cannot say just why that sight
Had seemed to bother me so much,
It wasn’t large, in width or height,
But still, somehow, I feared its touch.

At length, I turned myself away,
And tried to find a bite to eat.
But yet no matter where I’d stray,
I’d wind up back upon that street.

The second time I’d wandered back,
I saw a figure, clad in boots,
And trousers, shirt, and coat, all black,
Just standing silent at the roots.

It felt to me like time had slowed,
The wind played such an eerie tune.
He stared at me with eyes that glowed
The shade and color of the moon.

I felt his gaze bore through my head,
It built up steadily and then
I turned on shaking knees and fled,
But only wound up back again.

Another figure stood and stared,
In my direction, eyes aglow,
She never glanced at he who shared
The space wherein that tree did grow.

I fled once more, and once more found
My path led back into that place,
And now a third sat on the ground,
A placid look upon his face.

I ran again, and then returned,
Beneath those endless starlit skies,
I ran all night and never learned,
What secrets lie within those eyes.

But morning never seemed to come;
This night is an eternity.
And so I’ll take this welcome from
The Ones Who Stand Around the Tree.