The Sisters stood sentinel
Watching over the woods
Three trunks, one root system
A triumphant trio  


Laughter like butterflies
Fluttered through the summer air  

Then, he came
Flannel-clad and flushed
Singing a love song
Under his sweet breath  

From his pocket
He pulled a knife
And carved a heart
In the middle sister  

It sent a susurrus
Through her leaves
And left her sap-pulse pounding
“He picked me.”  

Insults like blackbirds
Flapped and flew  

“Wood witch”
“Birch bitch”  

“Jealous hags.”

Their bitterness
beckoned The boring beetle

Silver bark blackened 
Branches bowed
Leaves languished  

One by one by one
They succumbed
Each, in turn, fainting  

Dead on the forest floor
And the Sisters were no more.