Under the Hazel Tree

Tonight I feel the dark man in a black cloak with a hunchback and a crooked nose,

his gnarled stick striking the ground in a rhythm disturbing the hairs at the back of my neck,

I can hear his breath hissing through his rotten teeth, murmuring to himself,

mumblings to remind me of the threats and horrors and all which should not have been,

crooning out my judgment which he will bestow upon me with judicious pleasure.

Cold shivers run down my spine, every nerve ending alert and fully aware of his threat,

getting nearer with every ray of sunlight that slips behind the mountain, with every lengthening shadow creeping closer and closer to me, and although I am gripped by fear, I am not afraid,

because I know his swindling stories, I know his treacherous ways, I feel his maleficence,

and thus I am here, under the Hazel tree, with my hand on my sword and the truth on my lips,
I do not concent to you, I will not bow down to you, and I am waiting, be prepared for a fight.