Night sits on my chest
Squeezes poems out of me
And grinds my poor soul

Writing poems
With the ink of my tears

Standing in a forest
Of people I don’t love or need
She’s solid as walnut tree
And rooted like religious creed

Blowing in the wind
She bends and stretches to the sun
Moving with a ballet grace
With wild hair the air has spun

Steady on the upland
She rules the woodland of my world
Deep within the darkest grove
She’s calling me with words unfurled

But she will not yellow
Or let her love turn shades of red
She Is for me my evergreen
Till the two of us are sadly dead

We will lay together
In cask made of the clearest pine
And we will not be parted
Because the woman is true mine.