The Killing Tree
Here drive the nail.
Here set the noose.
Draw poisons from
The leaves’ harsh juice.
Its lashing thorns
Cut to the bone.
Its bark as hard
As paving stone,
It thrives in loam
And rocky ground.
Its shade is deep,
Its stern limbs bound
For sharp-tipped stakes,
For shaft and stock—
They hold no nest
And shield no flock.
With all the seeds
Its black fruits hold,
It multiplies
A thousand fold.