Where shade once was, the oak tree in a sprawl Of death no longer writhing against the wind The people say: "I see now. It was tall" And here and there slight nests of spring now find Themselves dependent on a severed height The people say: "I see now. It was kind" The people praise. The people cut Twilight comes and they haul their loads off Through mid-air a cry... A blackcap crying out in flight Seeking a nest that is no longer there