It was a comrade.
Bending over the house,
strength and adventure
in its roots
But in its utmost fingers,
tenderness
And the girth
that a dozen men
could not have spanned
Became in the end evanescent
till pale bud clusters seemed to float
in the air
It was a comrade
House and tree transcended any similes of sex
she thought of them now
and was to think of them
On many a day and windy night
But to compare either
to man
to woman
Always dwarfed the vision
Yet they kept within the limits
Of the human
their message
not of eternity
but of hope
on this side of the grave