Towering, dancing in winds that cannot bow him,
Fierce and ***** in the face of the wild screaming gale,
A legion of fluttering leaves blown full, a thousand tiny sails,
The great tree stands unbowed, the true mast of the world.

Twigs snap and branches creak, the clamor of nature’s wars,
Roots roar under the strain, tearing earth to grip buried anchors,
But the trunk does not tremble, he dares the strong east wind,
Ancient arboreal pride silently scorning childish zephyrs.

A true Tree does not cower before the sky’s elemental armies,
His memory is too long, he calls the airy spirits each by name,
Spritely bravado cannot prevail over noble wooden belligerence,
High-born timber that was old before the gods of men were born.

Springing, a wooden fountain clawing up and seizing handfuls of sky,
From a seed, once pierced, flooding bark and vein and leaf,
A flash-frozen image witnessing centuries of inching growth,
Earth’s womb births a living monument to the beauty of tireless patience.

His grip streams also downwards, cascading away from the light,
Roots surge, a backwards tree, a forest to gravity submissive,
Sundering stone and breaking bedrock, juggernaut tendrils,
Disdaining gold and diamond to drink deep decomposed dirt.

Come summertide, branches bow and bend, saluting the forest floor,
Spring flowers fall and seed-fruits swell, the weight of promised life,
Fecundity unrivalled, to feed man and bird and wasp and deer,
And to charge the earth with secret plans of sprouts for future days.

Hail, King Arbor, vice-regent of the paradisal garden!
Adam’s mentor, teaching man the mysteries of seeds and fruit,
Guardian watchman, standing sentinel over both Cain and Abel,
With offended roots drinking the blood of sins original.

Assemble now your princes, the Date Palm and Fig!
Noble Pomegranate lifts his head at your summons!
At your right, your queen, Tree of Life, heavy with fairest fruit,
Your son, Tree of Knowledge, flourishes at your knee!

Men once exiled, you reign alone steward of Eden,
Antediluvian memory recalling the primordial peace,
Reminiscing over God’s evening strolls in your leafy shade,
The soil has been tainted, but your sun shines ever pure unchanged.

Wake not, dear pilgrim, this sleeper
His time is not yet come
He’s not been caught by the reaper
The reaper’s caught by him
He’ll prove that his love runs deeper
Than all of Hell’s despair
All of mankind’s sins are cheaper
Than his crucified gift
The peak of his heart is steeper
Than death’s ravenous throat
He will be his brother’s keeper
And has adopted us

Oh, corpse! Yet not a corpse at all
Though from the bleak tree you did fall
And though no breath now swells your lungs
Your voice, once praised by mortal tongues
No longer sounding in our ears
Bloodless lips kissed by women’s tears
All blood exhausted from gashes
From blows and nails and vile lashes

But what a secret lies here; hark!
This bruisèd frame the promised ark
A chamber where all souls are hid
Hell trembles at his love-mad bid
For while grave death his chamber keeps
His flesh unsouled, he merely sleeps
Mark, dear heart, where the Master lies
This wounded flesh, it aches to rise

Do not, I beg, force me to choose
Not when I have so much to lose
I will gladly simply obey
Tell me to leave, tell me to stay
But please do not make me decide
We’re way beyond mere paltry pride

I need you to give a command
I’ll comply with any demand
But do not so cruelly require
Of me that I somehow desire
This great, austere, forbidding cross
Do not ask me to want the loss

But oh! How far are we from love
How awful! Forgive me, my dove
Heed now, dear heart, my broken voice
Desire, it will follow the choice
Comfort cannot come before it
I choose the cross, beg, implore it

The noise-choked soul, in her dismay
May rest her head upon the hay
Sleep in peace in the poor manger
Beside the Babe, free from danger
Her heart beating beside His head
He’ll gladly share His lowly bed

The fretful soul may, like a dove,
Fly far away to join her love
On the mountain, there all alone
Flesh of His flesh, bone of His bone
Once joined to Him, she’ll never roam
And He will build for them a home

The burdened soul may in the road
Lie unmoving, a wooden load
And with love’s crucified embrace
He’ll run for her His ****** race
In His strong arms He will take her
Shoulder her cares, ne’er forsake her