With fungal crown, King Oberon receives
all the waste and the withering of time,
sees the fall and the flowering of leaves
then paints the river rocks all black with slime.
Whole continents are nursed within a fallen log
and the trees, evergreen, never shed their coats,
for here, even the birds swim through tides of fog
while skies sink heavy and the water floats.
For an hour, at dusk, the grey is turned to gold
and the sun—like the prophet of God—proclaims,
“This world of wet and marsh-foot creeping mold
is still within the realm of his joyous flames.”
And all the creatures of this land of fog and moss
welcome him—like a king returned—then mourn his loss.

Avatar Grove Nurse Log