It lay between, the only living thing
Fell leaves to all sides browning over stones-
Skin scarred with knifepoint mem’ries of young flings
And yet, with subtle strength, it stood alone.
The branch hung low and wide, the jutting bole
A well-ridged step of crevices for toes;
A hand-round branch, and up! Above the knoll:
More peaceful than those grass-worn shrouds below.
Somnolent may that rounded edge me keep
Safe from any ground’s claim to mortal shove;
Wind-child as I am, I could never sleep
Below the surface of the earth I love.
As I am living, earth’s enough for me
But in death, let my ash dust o’er a tree.
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