Pagan Poem

Widespread as the waves

Of the rising sea

Boughs begin to wave

Above me as I lie

At ease in the shade—

If I could make out

With one of these trees

I would take root here

Never to leave this grove

Where the wind weaves

In and out of boughs

Shining overhead—

I would break all vows

That bind me to your bed

If I could make out

With one pine instead