whose canopy milky way twinkles
in the dark depths beyond Night
whose rich, unfathomed roots run
to the source from which all emerge,
and nourished in the well of wyrd, you blossom,
arbor whose arms hold galaxies,
wood whose sap runs with the mind made mead
in those underground breweries where souls are distilled
and fermented in the afterlife chambers, to soar
within thy heartwood, juice beneath world
and our mind sees them dancing, in truth.
By root or by crown, all good Gods live within Thee,
ward thee, know thee, cherish and love thee
for you are the All's flower and fruit bearing forth!
I am but a small tree, but in thee,
in thee, O yew, O ash of the brightest fiery colors,
I find ample and awe-inspiring reflection.
