the folktale forest

Entwined brambles,birches stretched into arches,thorns without roses
You are the silent guard and the the living bulwark of jumbled fortresses.
The walls of the forest,you tell silent lies: you show the way to go.
You say: " this way"… and then you tighten your branches.
You hide the castle,to make a better drawing of it,in dark velvet,and fragile whiteness
Pretending to sleep,your scratchy thickets awakened our dreams.
What prince? what little boy? do we still have to wait?
Or just defend ourselves with our memories?
You, the wall of the shaded and sunlit forests, write folktales and secret paths.