Naked amongst fleshed oaks I held myself in my arms This was your special somewhere And in all it’s life there is death, Two names etched in to willow Which weeps with the banshee of wind As my hairs pinked by fallen blossom Which once in yesteryears stayed intact In your flowing hair Which fragranced my chest As we talked of new days On tombs of fallen leaves Which lay witness To tender whispers in hard winds Which split our tree to yellow rings. I become a ghost here Amongst the Satyr’s and Nymphs But I became a man here Lonelier through being joined Then snapped like a branch in full bloom On to the dryness of a brown circling tomb.