All the trees are hers
And the bees and the furs
Not exactly hymns but hers
All the skies are fine
And the beasts with spurs
Not exactly wings, flutters

And the nights of stars
And the cold shudders
Precise and orderly clutters
After quite some time
We'll be who we were
I will certainly trust her

When the time comes to die X2
Will we steal the truth in it?
When the time comes to die
Oh, the dust and close your eyes
Will we believe the truth in it?

All the trees are hers
Tall and green and worst
To pollinate the cup butter
Even apple trees
With reluctant worms
Can satisfy her needs for sure...
And the rhubarb burst
Through the dark rich earth
Makes the sweetest intermittent purr
What is fallow now
Will come to deserve
Poetry's most lovely words