Let us plant a tree and water it with the blood of our enemies so that the future may sit beneath the boughs that were stolen from us before we were born.
A poison Tree
I was angry with my friend; I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I waterd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night. Till it bore an apple bright. And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole, When the night had veild the pole; In the morning glad I see; My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
Beautiful. An original?
Beautiful. An original?
Not mine. Eighteenth century English poet William Blake. It's been a favorite of mine for a very long time. It stirred something in me and it's becoming clear why. :)
Sincere thanks for sharing it with me.
(post is archived)