Poof! G's gone and so is O,

and so, too, a goodly—sometime

ungodly—mess of fine-feathered

followers: lip-servants, literati,

chroniclers, as well as worshippers

of the flame. All now hushed,

having kept the great secret,

nursed it, till time nudged them

back into the woodwork, back

to the pink-petalled wallpaper.

Some used it, some taught it;

yet despite such mincing efforts

secrets seeped into the stream,

working their work: fertilizing,

inspiring, clarifying, fructifying.

Somewhere in a mirrored salon

I see the tree those two

grand, indispensable men

lugged in, a majestic tree,

towering like a clipper's mast,

well watered, deep rooted.

Children are round it gazing 

at beams the sun throws

through green-leaved limbs,

making a cathedral of the light.

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