The Tree

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Little children climb my coffee brown branches
Their soft sticky hands tickling my bark
Bluebirds make delicate nests in my jade green hair
Twittering to the passing clouds
That parade by in the shape of flowers and monkeys
Swinging by their tails
At night the silver gleaming moon stares at me
I stare back
In the morning, the dog sprays me with warm golden liquid
And my roots sprout further into the deep earth
And as I dream
The cool wind whispers in my ear
Of metal trees and pirates and treasures buried under the sea





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