in the field none can see from the road
and you will know to find me here
though this place is unknown to you.
By the field a forest grows
white with birch and dark with pine.
I will wait by the hornbeam tree
like any maid of old.
You will know this tree;
you named it for me.
It is gnarled and hard,
hard as any heart old with grief.
You will walk the unknown field,
dark with grass, light with sun.
My father will guide you
to the hornbeam tree, known as ironwood.
. I waited through my autumn days;
. my wait was vain.
. I can wait no more, love,
for winter came to the hornbeam tree
and I have cut her limbs to burn.
© 2005 lividviv
*the dots represent tab stops. Blogger wouldn't let me tab.