They say that the pelican plucks out her feathers 
to feed her young with blood; I have never seen it, 
but I hear from the pilgrims who come to see where he 
fed our roots with prayers pulled out by the shaft. 

They came with torches; trees do not love fire. 
We shook and we swayed; we could not flee. 
We weighed in instead with our heady scent:
remember, we whispered, your roots. 

I have heard that the pelican thing is a myth, 
that it is the blood of others that colour her kiss. 
The torches of war still light up the sky. 
The pilgrims have fled and we remain rooted.

But do not imagine us helpless; we who have grown  
upon his blood and prayers these thousands of years.
We know what we saw that night, whom we sheltered. 
Remember, we murmur to all who will listen, your roots.

He came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives; and the disciples followed him. When he reached the place, he said to them, “Pray that you may not come into the time of trial.” Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet not my will but yours be done.” Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down upon the ground. (Luke 22:39-44)

Now Judas, who betrayed him, also knew the place, because Jesus often met there with his disciples. So Judas brought a detachment of soldiers together with police from the chief priests and the Pharisees, and they came there with lanterns and torches and weapons. Then Jesus, knowing all that was to happen to him, came forward and asked them, “Who are you looking for?” (John 18:2-4)