The secretive tree people of Tanzania,

Dwell in treetops without any fear,

Building nests as big as elephant’s rear,

Going on the ground once each year,

This annual event is triggered by the moon,

It goes tiger blood red and grows like a balloon,

The tribe elder wears his gnarled branch crown,

Matched up with his splendid palm leaf gown,

Descending trunks like firemen down poles,

Onto a surface devoid of the usual holes,

Hundreds gather like a herd of circling bison,

Churning together in the gigantic throng,

The elder the hub of this ever turning wheel,

Surrounded by the tribe dancing with growing zeal,

Suddenly parting and splitting the circle in two,

Leaving the elder to stride along the forming avenue,

Singing and wailing filled the dark African night,

Along with an intensely strange turquoise light,

Streaming from each tribe member young and old,

Converging through the elder magnifying sevenfold,

The bright light streamed out the elder like lightning,

Ice blue energy forked away the landscape brightening,

Intense luminous shards of turquoise drawn to each tree,

Like white hot metal irresistibly heading to a magnetic key,

The unnatural forces of nature encasing each towering being,

Every leaf absorbing energy for its seeds new life guaranteeing,

The pitch black African night floods back surrounding everyone,

Every member empty but content their yearly task was done,

Filing back upwards towards their treetop nestling night rests,

Secretively living among and preserving the planets forests.

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