In the bark there is a
Swirl,
Press it, let its edges round
Yours,
Look down the avenue’s
Trees
With wind reaching in, to
Spine,
To the roots of your soul
Twined
To Earth’s grace, rolling on
Round itself, round the sun,
a God.
In the bark there is a
Swirl,
Press it, let its edges round
Yours,
Look down the avenue’s
Trees
With wind reaching in, to
Spine,
To the roots of your soul
Twined
To Earth’s grace, rolling on
Round itself, round the sun,
a God.