All the trees are hers And the bees and furs Not exactly hymns but hers All the skies are fine And the beasts with spurs Not exactly wings flutters And the nights with stars And the cold shudders Precise and orderly clutters After quite some time We’ll be who we were And I will certainly trust her Cause when the time comes to die When the time comes to die Will we steal the truth in it? Cause when the time comes to die Oh the dust and close your eyes Will we believe the truth in it? All the trees are hers Tall and green and worst To pollinate the comforter Even apple trees with reluctant worms Can satisfy her needs for sure And the rhubarb burst through the dark rich earth Makes the sweetest intermittent purr What is fallow now will come to deserve Poetry’s most lovely words