"My kin and I had laboured hard to reap the yearly harvest. Lain weary on our gathered sheaves we cracked a vat of ale.Poured a toast; Began to boast of who could sup the hardest. Slumped in drunken slumber at the height of wild wassail.... I woke to find my brothers gone that Autumn eve so balmy. Yet gazed in wide-eyed terror to the barley fields nearby. Struck dumb I swore; Stood before a mighty woad-daubed army. Believed my wits deceived me 'til I heard their battle-cry."
The Lord of The Trees: "Smash the axe and sow the seed; Don't cause the Oaken Heart to bleed!"
The Farm Hand's Ghost: "When he that led this heathen horde cast-off his ivy mantle; Cohorts raised honed halberds flying pennants of leaf-green. From below approached the foe; A fierce scythe-bearing hantle. Captains sat triumphant upon coughing, steel machines."
The Forces of Progress: "Break the bough and strip all off it. Fell this forest, make a profit!"
The Farm Hand's Ghost: "Opposing forces clashed beneath a red sky cracked by thunder. Entrenched beneath the hedge-row I'd observed it quite unseen. One side stood to save the wood: T'other planned it's plunder, I chose to fight for Nature's right; Grabbed a fallen skean. All who would one flower destroy,must first cut down this Didycoy! We fought until the last that day to gain a hard-won victory, Sucked in by the thirsty earth - I watched my life-blood ebb. Though I died at least I'd tried to play some part in history; A momentary trembling on the threads of Wyrd's web."
The Lord of The Trees: "Are there more so brave and honest; Who would die to save my forest?"