King of the Forest - Morning's Call

His eyes twin rocks, his face set stone,

Far-seeing gaze as grim as bone,
He lurks in forest eaves.
He rests his hands on columns wide,
Beneath such touch, smooth pillars glide,
A colonnade of trees.

This is his fort with living walls,
With courts of green and thicket halls,
A sheltered forest strong.
Deterring thieves are thicket moats,
Sharp, twisting brambles knotting close,
They guard from harm or wrong.

And he, the King, yet speaks no word,
But watches while he waits, unheard,
He searches for the morn.
For when dawn comes, a blast will ring,
Alerting wood, reminding King,
To keep their duties sworn.

Green ramparts glow as fire ascends,
Revealing silent, hidden glens,
A wood-cock plies his trade.
This trumpet wild awakes the trees,
They dance and leap without a breeze,
Light crowns their brows bright jade.