Ancient, turned and twisted oaks
Linger in silence on the moors
Moss-softened stones guard their roots
Ghosts hide amongst their tangled claws
Their seeds were sown in times of myth
With strange words woven through the years
Of patient trees who weep and sigh
And bear your secrets and your fears
Younger trees now, straight and tall,
Thrive where magic once was known,
The secrets held within those boughs,
Lay buried beneath the grey-green stones.
Wistman’s Wood is one of Britain’s last three high-altitude oak woodlands. It is on Dartmoor and, when there alone, it is easy to believe in myths and legends.