The ancient beech was born in fire,
And married twice to priestly kings.
Its bark was burnt and deeply scarred.
Its leaves poured light and raised the earth.
The mast around was stained with blood,
And matted thick with offered hair.
A thousand years the beech had grown,
It touched the sun and stroked the moon.
Its roots had spread beyond the wood,
Beneath the charcoal burner’s house,
Beneath the gardens, streets and towns,
And out beneath the mythless world.
The ancient beech was lost to truth:
Was married twice, and twice forgot.