Mother's Plea

The mother oak stands all alone 
In the center of a crowded forest,
Creaking and cringing for its pain
And breathing a sigh of relief 
For its contented days. 
She beckons near the birds who visit her annually,
And she says, 'Watch over
My children if I can no longer.'
The mother oak watches each sprint, each sway,
Standing guard over the young ones
And barking orders to her firstborns. 
Her daughters cannot flee
Unless they fall captive to huntsmen;
Her sons are forced to watch
Their brothers collapse by axes and arrows,
Bloodstained tips flaunting the end of their elders.
The mother oak waves her branches
To the rushing winds, whispering
As they pass, and she says,
'Protect my children when I can no longer.'
The mother oak knows no boundaries
When keeping the survivors well,
Too many shot and cut down to their deaths,
Their cries still in the breeze whether or not
They could bleed, their faded memories enough
To set her soul ablaze, remember the departed
Who now can only visit the mother 
If their tears are on the woodsman's blade. 
She murmurs to the willows,
'Hide the survivors when I join my fallen.'