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