The Oak

Clear, distant, from
the breast of a tower
I can hear a bell's heartbeat,
and in its sweet echoes
it seems that my veins flow
with drops of silence.

Oak tree at the forest's edge
why does this soft winged peace
overcome me, defeat me
when I lie in your shadow
while you caress me
with your playful leaves?

Oh, who can tell
Perhaps the time will soon come
when from your trunk
they will make my coffin
and I am feeling now the peace
I will taste between its boards:

I feel the peace dropping with your leaves
in my soul - and, silenced
with each passing moment
I listen to the sound of my coffin
steadily growing in your trunk,
oak at the forest's edge.