A mulberry tree appeared
Where I hadn't planned that one should be.
I cut it down
Without a thought.
The next summer,
It returned, but I hadn't the heart
To cut it again while it stood green and fine,
So I sawed it at its base
In the autumn.
A third time, my mulberry returned;
At last, I fell in love,
And that is the only sharpness I let near.
I tend her now with deep and careful sweetness
Born of my mistakes become a prayer.