Fairytale Poetry: The Tree Nymph

I wrote the following poem a few years ago, inspired by two events which occurred at roughly the same time. The first event was that I saw a documentary on J. R. R. Tolkien, which talked in depth about Tolkien's grief at seeing the English country-side destroyed. The theme of man's destruction of natural, living beauty runs through The Lord of the Rings; think, for example, of the war of the Ents, and the ravaging of the Shire. The second event was that the house a few houses down was sold to a couple who decided not only to level the existing building, but to kill every single tree on their lot — more than twenty beautiful 80 yr-old trees! The lot looked raped and pillaged afterwards, with the corpses of the once-noble trees ignobly strewn by the roadside. I grieved, and if the thought of prison hadn't deterred me, I would have beaten those people up, I was so angry. Needless to say, I never made any effort to befriend those treekillers.

What made me think of that poem today and to decide to post it despite it not being very good, was a lovely post by SzélsőFa on the very same subject. This is the only fairytale poem that I've written in the present tense, an exercise I found quite difficult. My only regrets are that the poem is not better and that I never found an artist to illustrate it, as I had some other poems illustrated. Perhaps one day.

THE TREE NYMPH Golden leaves on the water fall So still and dark and deep, While underneath an old oak tall A tree nymph small doth weep. The woods are quiet with the night, No crickets can be heard; The purple fading of the light Is greeted by not a bird. With each spiralling oak tree leaf The sorrowed sylph glows dimmer; Such is the bounty of her grief She sees not the new stars glimmer. A grave gray owl alights nearby To the sylph and her waning tree; Being oldest and wisest, with a sigh He questions the tree maid wee. "What ails you, little sylvan lass, Why is your heart so sore?" She lifts her eyes as green as grass And whispers, "Nevermore." "Never again shall my eyes behold The sight of my love so dear— Never again on winter nights cold Shall his treesongs reach my ear. "He loved each tree in this verdant wood, He tended each acorn with care— There never was a soul so good, Nor ever a sylphman so fair. "On sunny days we gamboled wild Amidst the alder trees; On rainy days the winds grew mild When we sang under the leaves. "The humans for their greedy gain Have chopped and hewn down his home; And with his tree, he too was slain, I buried him in the loam. "And, mourning, I now say goodbye To the forest and my tree, For without my love, I wish to die And join Eternity." The sylvan maid had wept bitter tears While telling her heartlorn tale; Firmly confirming the owl's fears, She begins to grow further pale. "Sylvan lass, this you must not do! You must live on and persever— Your tree and your sylvan kin need you, It is wrong to forsake them, ever. "Your love would have wished you to carry on And to guard your forest green— For in these woods your love lives on In his spirit, though never seen. "These trees are the children you have raised From nut and seed to full growth; If you but look, you will be amazed At what's sprung from your true-love's oath." At the owl's words, the sylph looks around And sees, what he says is true— For everywhere the woods abound With oak, and elm, and yew. The trees they had planted in elder days Reach high into the skies, And all around her the forest sways In testament to their lives. A smile like dewdrops in the spring Spreads slowly over her face, And sweetly the sylph begins to sing And from tree to tree to pace. She knows her love is ever there, In her heart and in their trees— For true love such as they did share Simply could not ever cease. And the owl, seeing her shine once more, Relieved and elated takes flight, And feeling his own owl spirits soar, He hoots down "Goodbye and Goodnight."

(©2004 Anniina Jokinen. All rights reserved.)