Wandering down tangled forestal trails
towards a faint cursing up ahead;
(A Hartstone druid surrounded by totems
about to revert to their natural state!)
I found myself drifting off to reminisce
about the first time I did tread there:
I'd been meandering through the forest afoot -
upon all the aethers were nary a peep,
When I chanced upon an uncarved elder moonhart -
oh yes, my befuddlement did run deep!

It wasn't just its presence that day
that caused me to be puzzled so,
For I'd seen many of those - and may
see thousands more 'ere I go.
I paused thus, without behest,
for on that day beneath those eaves -
A familiar voice heard upon its breath
as the breeze sighed through the unmoving leaves.

I looked up to whence the voice was heard
and saw there among the tangled leaves,
A most familiar form surrounded by the birds
gazing down at me from amidst those silvery eaves.
"Come up and join me!" - my mother did call -
as she perched comfortably atop that tree,
"This view is splendid," - she did entreat -
"Climb up - you really ought to see!"

Although, now, a big treehouse'd been built
offering a much more impressive view of the Wildes,
I'd trade it all for just one more day
with Mother atop her moonhart tree.
For even now, whenever I pass beneath that tree
in that lonely grove the years have passed by,
I wait - in vain - for that voice, that prose
so yearned for, beneath the moonlit sky.