Count To Three

Close your eyes below the hanging bough, of the old oak tree

Once the light has waned, take a moment, then count to three

Under the spell of the ancient wood and the rope scarred bark

Nothing unknown will follow you here, where the world is stark

The count has passed and what was lush, has turned to tinder

This once cyan sylvan will fade away, to be as bleak as winter

Orientate yourself, with naught to say, from your lolling tongue

Then face the raven, who's been your shadow, for far too long

Here there's a dirge of tautened creaking, from a hollow depth

Realising you have a need to breathe, but you have no breath

Every last second lost hasn't happened, but it's what might be

Enraptured by this reverie, close your eyes and count to three