Out he looked, through the stained window pane,
Saw an olden tree, with eyes full of rain,
The tree had bent in places destined,
No leaf ever grew, from its veins again.

Pain devoured, its desirous desire,
And out it put, its love-fed fire,
The rain then gave it a wisp of life,
Yet grimmer it grew, as the night came nigher.

Under the moonlit shadow of stars,
He counted its twists, he saw its scars,
Gazed upon his own then he,
Compared his wounds, matched up his wars.

In his chest he carried, a heavy heft,
Of a lover’s love, that was left bereft,
A love persistent, and unwise,
A love that struck, his heart with a cleft.

Yet in mind he stayed, unwavering in faith,
Believing stories told, by her beautiful wraith,
Under dusky nights, with the world asleep,
In the love of her love, his love would bathe.

Turned away, from the window when he,
He gazed upon the moonlit tree,
Saw its shadow fall, upon his own,
Said the moonlit tree he’d be.