The tree had never dreamt to kill;
that stuff, it thought, was for the birds,
although it knew it, too, had grown
rich on the sinew and marrow left
at its feet by the hawks and the owls.
Still, if anyone had thought to ask,
it would have preferred to be used for caskets,
helping to shoulder the burden of grief,
than pressed into the service of death;
knowing full well, as it did, that its roots
were once one with the tree of life.
over the water 