Our Hominal Bread

Ten trees sit there astride the concrete way
Iron arms conceding down fingered steel
Their roots sunk deep within that poisoned bay
To drink restlessly in heedless zeal

In a copse of ash or a weald of stone
Hides hunted houndings with equal effect
Subdues every stumble and fall of bone
Shelters the pious feast of earth’s elect

Nourish here on the unwillingly led
Upon this liberated carmine wine
Take comfort now from our hominal bread
For their proffered soul to us consign

To each their own time will to them attain
This track we pace with cerise step in vain

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