I planted it in a warm meadow,
In an hour of pale afternoon.
The grasses and reeds cloaked it soundly,
Daffodils in silent bloom.
Like curious fingers they rasped
Against the black rings of the wood.
When the sun fell behind it, they parted
In awe as it did as it should.
Impassive, it garnished the hill
And stood just as dark as forever-
A cruel malformation of shapes,
Two crucifixes hewn together.
All edges and twistings of twine
And carved with rough, angry hands,
And jagged, sickled, paint broken in cracks,
Caked with dirt from many lands.
Here I do plan to leave it..
As unrefined as it is.
Undisturbed, solitary crown,
A burden no longer, no more a menace.
