I beseech you, a mothers thorn does cut,
That only love can remind of despair,
For well being of all and abundance of air,
And the mind does remember the bindings of what?
The reproach of disdain overthrown, left in the soot.
In souls as countries, are found dispersed bare,
Under the watch of caring careful glare,
Then freedom insoles and escape draws near, but;
Of absolute distance, arise and go—
The willow still shivering in the breeze,
Limb fragile branches, swing to and fro,
In everlasting grief fallen to its knees,
Comfort it, when the birds have flown,
Find the fruits hidden in hallow bone,
Befriend fair tree, and now you’ll see,
The thorn was removed before the scream.