
Winter warmth is
Exculpation enough
For me to take down
This poor tree,
Buck its dead wood,
Free the light
Of other years
Inside its rings.
There's some good
In the warmth it
Brings, and no blame.
All life is combustion,
All one flame.

[with thoughts of L. J. E., b.Jl. 29, 1910, d.Nov.7, 1960]