In amongst the twisted roots live the spirits of the woods

Not hobbits or stupid bloody Russian entities

Just good old English entities that are neither good nor bad

They come out and drink the dog’s water from their bowls

The dogs do not complain because they see what we do not

They know what is true and have no knowledge of Russian rot

Sometimes they stand and stare

We look but do not see what is there

It’s not a rabbit or a hare

They would chaser them without a care

These creatures of the woods they just see but wouldn’t dare

Sometimes they look up to us as if to say can’t you see what’s sitting there

Our brains so full of bits and bytes and megabytes

We have no understanding of the world that surrounds us

To us it’s just a dog that acts weird sometimes

Perhaps we would benefit from connecting to our more primitive brain sometimes