Kathy Shaidle, “Dream of the Rood”

Blessed be my branches’ shadows,
sunsewn Mosesbaskets:

they ‘byed the Infant sleeping on the grass.

Blessed be my roots:
weaving the Boy a fine cradle,
they hovered Him just above Hell.

Yes, bring on the beautiful saw—
I will it. Dead
I will live forever.

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