After cla**, you would drag me
With protest to the empty
Cherry tree, to tend the ground there
Once a week, respectfully
You would speak to me of the carrot-headed sister
Just beneath my feet, as solemnly you would
Stroke the ground to tuck her into her
Silten sheets, some six feet deep
With the months that pa**ed before you
Could afford to mark the ground beneath the cherry tree
I learned to wait in your sheepskin seats
And dig my teeth deep
Into my knees, to dam the creeks above these
Ruddy cheeks that betray me
Now you've signed your name across the space beside her
And tend the ground where you will lay
Apart from everything but your carrot-headed daughter
Beneath that cherry tree
Eternally