The coffin maker

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