Dryads eggs hatching


Strokes and scribbles
Chisel out ancient tales
Like the lines on a human hand.

Dryads’ families lives
Imprinted on beautiful bark
Wrapped around the groaning oak.

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Dryads’ eggs disguised as nodules, pulsate
And warm,
Sparkling eyes watching from
Dusk till dawn until
Time for rebirth.

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