Requiem for Restoration

Within a rampant beauty,
I lie upon a leafy bed.
Around me circle Yew trees,
The most striking one is dead.

I stumble up and stumble down,
Along its rotting roots.
I stare upon the broken crown,
On the ground from which the Yew tree shoots.

I bend over the tattered earth,
And with my hands do toil.
Scoops, and lumps, of growing girth,
Are removed from the soil.

The hole is deep, as it is wide.
And then in its wall I inscribe,
“This feral creature that now has died,
Is guarded by a kindly diatribe.

“And buried here in hopes aglow,
That this great tree may live again.
Too bad this beast, in life would never know,
What in death would be its friend.”

I move it over gently,
And place it in with care.
The loose earth now seems friendly,
Once an etched sign is there.

The sign says “Be aware,
Of what lies beneath the trees.
A wild soul doth resteth there,
Please let it rest in peace.”

So now I walk away from here,
Away from all the dead.
I look up and shed a single tear,
For this evening, the mourning sky glows with a brilliant red.