[2010 “Oak Folk” Compilation]
[inspired by Giovanni Pascoli poem “The Fallen Oak”]

Where shade once was, the oak tree in a sprawl
of death no longer writhing against the wind.
The people say: “I see now. It was tall.”

And here and there slight nests of spring now find
themselves dependent on a severed height.
The people say: “I see now. It was kind.”

The people praise. The people cut.
Twilight comes and they haul their loads off.
Through mid-air a cry…
A blackcap crying out in flight,
seeking a nest that is no longer there.

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