I laugh at Death, I hail Death, I kiss her on the cheek as a lover his bride,

But the lover goes not to his bride unless he desire her;

I go not to Death until I am ready.

The strong lover goes not to his bride save when he would people his land with sons;

Then I, too, I go not to Death, save it be for the labor greater than all others.

I shall break her with my laughter;

I shall complete her...

Only then shall Death be when I die!

Joyce Kilmer

TREES