Dark Woods

There is a wood of old
it grows high and tight
it is dark and cold
where Vikings fight
it keeps treasure and gold.
It is really a scary sight.

There trees have drank blood.
People were slaughtered.
Bodies bled as there was flood.
In the wood echoed laughter.
Wars have been in these woods.

A wise man once said
that these woods live,
he saw one tree that bleed.
It takes, does not give.
It needs to be fed.
The wood is independent,
it has a mind of its own.

The wood of horror
of war, blood and pain.
Around it is great sorrow.
Your blood is its gain.
Dark Woods.