At the gravesite on a slope
in frozen winter
waiting for the hearse to arrive
we mourners stood trembling,
unconsoled,
weeping inside, but
on looking up
found strength in glances we cast
at a stubby beech tree
rooted on one foot
with its head thrown back
that with gnarled fingers
was reaching up
to claw the icy winds.
at a stubby beech tree
rooted on one foot
with its head thrown back
that with gnarled fingers
was reaching up
to claw the icy winds.
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