Fall tree, more beautiful undraped-
Barren form, just as you were shaped.
Frost bites, tearing green - you escaped.
What you've become can only grow.

As you die, you'll be at your crest.
For every year you spent in wrest
You may go to your roots, appressed.
Shreik once last so the wind may blow.

The ground will creak and wind will howl
as your roots are shucked among growl.
Year and year towards the sun you prowl.
Icarus, in the shade you sow.

Too late for us both to ask aid,
too late to tell you why I stayed.
Too soon, for me, to find new shade.
I'll lie with you; as one we'll go.