I will begin my decent into madness with a poem:

Twas a shining day
With the flowers on decay
And the ground was stiff and crunchy
 
I did find a small birch
Twas a woodland church
Where animals went to prey
 
Therein was an owl
Who preached to the foul
And other creatures a sundry
 
“We must lift to the god
All our babes and our blood
For his holiness may give us this day”
 
And to Owl they gave
Each their blood and their babe
And each babe Owl ate with a smile
 
Then with their blood
he did imbibe and flood
his lips with the juicy red bile
 
Now in the forest there
there near the woodland affair
was a badger as old as the birch
 
He refused to comply
Nor gave any reply
Till I asked of the woodland church
 
With a deep heavy sigh
He explained to me why
and thusly he said this
 
“Twas long ago
Or I think so
When I last believed in bliss
 
On a day so familiar
I lay very still here
Beneath the woodland church
 
Then as I gazed up
I dropped my teacup
And beheld the woodland birch
 
It said unto me
I am but a tree
But I wish to make merry the creatures
 
And so gathered them I
Those who crawled and did fly
And brought them to their preacher
 
Good songs we would sing
And dance in the spring
All were merry and rejoiced
 
Save one dark soul
Whose empty bowl
did make his maw quite moist
 
There Owl sat
all puffed and fat
and scowled at the woodland birch
 
And last i did see
of that poor birch tree
was when Owl did upon it perch
 
Now everywhere a birch
Everywhere a church
And dear Owl does get fatter
 
I cry in pain
his name in vain
but never does it matter
Now here am I
Not even a fly
Would listen to my tale
 
But you my dear
Have heard it clear
And never a moment did fail
 
So take this die
before I die
and plant it in the garden”
 
So for my deed
He gave me a seed
and quickly gave me his pardon
 
With seed in hand
I parted the land
and impregnated into the ground
 
Nine moons hence
Within my fence
A birch tree did abound
 
Now each day they come
following the crumb
into the garden of birch
 
The animals sing
and dance in the spring
and come to the Woodland Church
 
and among their ranks
and at their flanks
poor Owl can always be seen
 
But to his dismay
He can’t find a way
and the birch tree remains pristine