Lesley Carty
Song of the Dryad
The storm blazes through the ancient oaks.
Bending before the wind
I can feel my cambrium fracture and strain.
I have longed for my heartwood to endure,
to form king-post or roof-tree in some Heorot of the future,
carved fragments scattered among
the libraries of the world. But grief comes first.
My roots are strong. I shall survive
the force of the gale;
but feel a limb tearing from me
with indescribable pain, so that
all the birds who would nest in my branches
tremble, and every twig and bud
aches with the knowledge of loss.
Page(s) 33
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