Groping upward, toward the heavens,
The dying tree’s old limbs,
Bleached by the sun,
Seemed at odds, “sixes and sevens”,
With the sky’s dark blue hymns,
Knowing life’s done.

Groping upward, toward the heavens,
The dying tree’s old limbs,
Bleached by the sun,
Seemed at odds, “sixes and sevens”,
With the sky’s dark blue hymns,
Knowing life’s done.
