Swaying

I died swinging
naked, from a strong kingly tree
ancient as the sacred breath
that will never swell in my chest again.
I spat the last of my air
at the crowd of cheering peasants
where children played
singing dark rhymes
joyfully in a circle
as they skipped over the shadows
cast by budding limbs, twigs,
and bodies
all swaying in the same wind
that swept their unkempt ginger hair
and clothes filled with holes.