Another Still
On the hillside, tall and green,
From a heart no longer clean
I rotted softly toward the stream
Softly rotted as I bent,
Measuring my slow descent,
Many seasons came and went
Sheltered from the north and west
Hungry beetles were my guests
Who ate the heartwood from my chest
Till my fibers giving, snapped
As I roared and fell and trapped
The little in my thunder clap
I am the poplar on the hill
Or if you wish another still,
A country will my fate fulfill
Pavel
July 26, 2011