There are five branches on my tree
Most neatly set in frame
The first of them is small
The second is more tall
That which in the middle grows
is taller than them all
Next to that another grows
To garnish off my tree
Set forth my riddle everyone
That does my riddle know
And tell me where my riddle is
And where my tree does grow.
A hand.
Its deep and its damp and green on the bank, its fit for Lord or Lady.
A grave.
(continues on next page)