Foolish beech, do we hold you less true

   That your tendrils and roots

   Hold only your fruits?

That the sum of your branches equals but you? 

And what of the drying and dying of Fall?

   Can a leaf fall a leaf

   And not echo grief?

Can a symbol not mirror a meaning at all? 

Yet what makes the wise old apple tree sway?

   A hungry prayer

   For the fruit you bear,

Or the turning of night toward the passing of day, 

Or maybe the laughter of gods rocks the leaves

   From their lonely stacks

   To their sisters' backs;

But surely — it isn't mere wind here that heaves.