-on scattering the remains of two persons

I like the whispers of the tree
I saw last night with eyes closed;
one day it will speak to me,
my final understanding host.

We poured the ashes of our parents
into a hole we dug in the rough;
our father dark, our mother white,
nutrition for a tree, bent and tough.

Out in the wild there is no straight,
clean, happy soul; no creature
can survive unless it bows.

It takes a dream to live in freedom,
to atone your crooked past:
unending sleep to get this close.