My leaves are rustling when your boughs
Are wrestling with the stifling breath of wrecked
And frantic height that breaks and bows
Your roots aroused -- but still you stay erect.
My leaves are trembling when your boughs
Are down with fog arising in my green
And thirsty veins to blind my open mouth
When slowing down my tongue upon your skin.
My leaves are dying when your boughs
Have torn my veins from yours to stay alone
Between the height and fog, to sound
Apart on the tribunal of the Fall.