Scowl Of The Ents Poem by Franc Rodriguez

A blustery winter had suddenly fallen,
upon the lands within the dales.
The waters froze and the frost was ice,
which thickened the harden fjords.
The grasp of the wintry cold swiftly,
wried the depth of the murky swales.
It was a time where the striplings,
sought wisdom amongst the lords.
The tidings of ents from the wealds,
gared fear within the kinsfolk.
The kings were wary of the threat,
upon the thorps beyond the slade.
They came like a clatter of thunder,
and a blizzard of might that awoke.
The ents were a clump of tall trees,
with claws like a sharpen blade.
It was a sight to be amazed in awe,
and for the thorps a living nightmare.
The kinsmen then huddled together,
to ward the flanks graith for war.
Boulders were thrown to thwart,
their onslaught as they would dare.
It was so feckless and egged them,
into a wrath that stirred them more.
A bellow and eerie sound was heard,
as they thumped the ground.
Soon the bodies of the athelings flew,
as they scattered onto the knolls.
Manifold warriors found themselves,
piled upon the nearby mound.
And those who stood still upright,
were enthralled by the wizen trolls.
The ents along with the ugsome trolls,
did not halt their nith upon their lands.
In the mist of the moon time dwined,
with no way to halt the threat.
From the ridge came a clan to slay,
the ents and trolls beyond the strands.
Within the heights were berserkers,
which many durst not to fret.
Only they could stop the thurses,
in their wrecking path of deaths.
On a misty day the brazen berserkers,
awaited them on an edge wried in ice.
The ents then came forth blowing,
with all the might of their breaths.
They withstood the harsh onslaught,
as they scoffed the ents twice.
The ents scowled within their anger,
walked toward the icy waters amain.
The ice cracked and the ents fell,
into a blinding storm of whirlpools.
The Gods thus spared the Norsemen,
as the scowl of the ents would wane.
Thus the tale of the tall trees lived,
as it would be told by the living souls.