Sinking my veins deep through the earth,
My roots hold the black abyss in place.
Centuries have flown by, like the breath
Wringing the dark for a drop of grace.
My hands leap skyward, a crown of green,
Where thoughts rustle softly in the shade.
I guard my flock from the thief-wind unseen,
Linked to each leaf by a vow I made.
The storm will roar like a horn of dread,
In the twilight tempest, the quiet returns.
With a lace of leaves, I will shield their head—
Hiding the scars where my own spine burns.
My veins — silk woven into the earth brown,
My hands — a canopy, cool and deep.
When the leaves fall down, it is time to be gone,
Melting into the mint-cold earth to sleep.