The Yew Tree Poem by Mark Heathcote

Beneath the mantle
of a sentry yew
like a drop of ancient,
trembling dew.

I alone stood afraid
amidst its calming call of shade.

Amidst its dark satanic whisper
I heard the silent grave.
Echo through my soul and mind,
showing from whence I came
the nightmares of my shame.

I stood alone, stood afraid
amidst its calming call of shade.

Hither I run through ethereal pines
that slowly stole away
out of the yew that would hide
my-lonely-youth away.

I stood alone, stood afraid
amidst its calming call of shade.