How I loved the way its brances bent earthward,
the mockingbird nest in its thick arms,
the branches bending always more.
And how I tried to keep the horses from eating it
but it was sweet.
Even the roots were chewed.
And when I tasted it myself
the taste was all sugar.
Then I understood the horses,
their teeth having chewed the whole tree.
But they even ate the mockingbird nest
that had once held the fledglings I so loved
before they flew away.