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