Bereavement
I looked
to the funeral trees
and they looked dead like me
naked in this winter breeze
I turned
to the funeral trees
and they seemed black to see
wretched lost and born of thieves
I walked
to touch the funeral trees
and they stood firm in sombre creed
with sacred bond to spite the freeze
I fell
to lie among the funeral trees
and watched them change
and saw them grow
and soon I slept -
how gentle were
their pleas.
I dreamed
a hymn of funeral trees;
Come summer, come now please -
and time was then,
to unfurl
leaves.