In all the warnings roared at me
of punishments to come
shames to shoulder
no one ever hinted
of cronehood changing me
into a tree

Yet now, be-barked
I am finally enough
surrounded by soil and starlight
and the endless life within the dirt
creatures a-slither, a-scuttle,
roosting in my branches
Winds whip, but never so wracking
as words from those
who never loved me back
I am, at last, at peace
but for the girl

She lives in the cottage
my shadow sometimes reaches
speaks the language once
used to list my failings
She carries the cruel
miasma of ash
which harms me
as it never did in life

She carries a hopelessness
I recognize
scorned no matter
the impossible
tasks she completes
She speaks to me
as though my bark holds
a face that comforts her
I wish, with all the strength
of my bark, my branches
that in the end she too
will be a tree, at peace