Descendants of Hyperion

A mere sapling was I

Upon the dawn

Of the first human death

At my feet.

Feathered hair,

Bloodied side,

Against me she slumped

And gazed skyward.

Her eyes glazed as

She heard her last hear

And saw her last see:

My young branches rustling in the breeze.

Before running cold,

The blood poured from her side

Upon the dirt.

Her body decayed,

But her life did not.

My roots embraced her,

Consumed her,

Became her.

Centuries later,

The sun my personal spotlight,

I stand above all,

Glorious and mighty!

My descendants marvel

At me, their ancestors,

And wonder where

Such beauty comes from.