A nature so straight it made mine so afraid. Straightened as the rope that got hanged all my hopes. ‘Twas a burial so underground for a body unworthy a single pound. Though blossoms come from its pores, They too shall wither and live no more. Would you like to come and see what’s now inside its core? There’s a sky-reaching wall of your mementos so galore. Neither angered nor desperate blows shall bring it down But your re-tipping whence I'd begin to re-act like a clown.