A Tree That Kills

 I was so mad with my friend:
 I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
 I was so mad with my foe:
 I told it not, my wrath did grow.

 And I kept it wet in fears,
 Night and morn with all my tears;
 And I sunned it with my smiles,
 And with soft and false-filled wiles.

 And it grew both day and night,
 Till it bore a red fruit bright.
 And my foe did see it shine
 And he knew that it was mine.

 And he in my tree's plot stole
 When the night had veiled the pole;
 In the morn glad did I see
 My foe stretched out there 'neath the tree.

                                -- Will Blake

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