Clergyman's

“Fire he sang,”

— that trees fear, and I, a tree, rejoiced in its flames. New buds broke forth from me though it was full summer.                     As though his lyre                     were both frost and fire, its chords flamed up to the crown of me.                     I was seed again.                                         I was fern in the swamp.                                                                         I was coal.- Denise Levertov