All the trees are hers

And the bees and furs

Not exactly hymns but hers

All the skies are fine

And the beasts with spurs

Not exactly wings flutters

And the nights with stars

And the cold shudders

Precise and orderly clutters

After quite some time

We’ll be who we were

And I will certainly trust her

Cause when the time comes to die

When the time comes to die

Will we steal the truth in it?

Cause when the time comes to die

Oh the dust and close your eyes

Will we believe the truth in it?

All the trees are hers

Tall and green and worst

To pollinate the comforter

Even apple trees with reluctant worms

Can satisfy her needs for sure

And the rhubarb burst through the dark rich earth

Makes the sweetest intermittent purr

What is fallow now will come to deserve

Poetry’s most lovely words