betide the nesting squirrels
who've taken
to its deep front end. Life
is exactly long
enough,
except for the thin-skinned
or beggarly
daughters,
who haven't struck your bargain
with the pure hard edge
of luck.
Remember when we planted the Norway
pine? Five hundred seedlings
the first
year and not one of them made
full growth. No light.
Or scant
light, what the grudging oaks
let through. What you love
best
shall be taken away
and taken away in the other
life too,
where you haven't got
a stand of oak at all,
old man,
nor three winters' cordwood,
nor work for the heart,
nor hapless
daughters
