Fitting boards together..from the souls of slaughtered trees
The maker of the fallens holder...stops...
Deeply in..he breathes
Knew..did he..this taken one
His sire...known as well
He\'s set upon their porch...had tea
At whence they used to dwell
And..granting shade from noonday\'s heat
The mighty pine did grow
Standing..so eternally...till
So strong.. the westwind blows
It landed.. on the destined one
And shattered into pieces
Now...milled to board to hold the passed
The maker... sees the reason..
For a prayer