Decayed willows sway discontently;
  This dank visage doused in moss;
  An aura of gloom and wretched loss.

  Its sluggish gait shook the land,
  A path so forged at its demand;
  Viscid venom left in wake,
  Withered verdure by the lake.

  Odour vile wafts throughout,
  Enough to set alight one's snout.
  When worldly senses begin protest,
  In one's heart is courage blessed.

  But a gentle approach suffers no offense,
  And the dappled sun burns through intense,
  And the delicate light now reaches deep,
  And the solitary is made to sleep.