Where shade once was, the oak tree in a sprawl Of death no longer writhing against the wind. The people say: "I see now. It was tall." And here and there slight nests of spring now find Themselves dependent on a severed height. The people say: "I see now. It was kind." The people praise. The people cut. Twilight comes and they haul their loads off. Through mid-air a cry... A blackcap crying out in flight, Seeking a nest that is no longer there.
Posted on: Mon, 10 Jun 2013 02:39:18 +0000
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