For Leshy, who is not in his grave

Hail O Leshy of the darkened wood,
with moss for your beard and skin like the whorled bark of trees
and a club so heavy none other can lift it.
As you walk by silence descends like the shroud of Zorya Vechernyaya
and all the beasts and birds bow their head in reverence for you, their lord.
No man of old would fell a tall tree to build his home without first making offerings to you,
for all that grows from the soil and runs wild beneath the heavens is under your protection.
As the rustling breeze
and the song of the passing river
and the sight of deer resting in the shade of an ancient copse
are pleasing to you, I pray that these words are too
and that you and your beloved family are never forgot.