Different From the Rest

April 18, 2011
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In the center of the woods,
Where no one sees,
Grown from the hard ground,
There was a tree.

I walked by it once.
It made me stop to stare.
Something made me stay by it.
Despite the chilling, winter air.

This tree was smaller than the rest.
It was the one with most meaning.
All the wind stopped,
As I stood there by a rock leaning.

The other trees towering over it,
Were dead, empty, bare.
The dead of winter does that.
You can't escape it anywhere.

Not this tree, no.
This tree of the season.
This tree was full of leaves,
Hope made by an illusion.

I walked away that day.
Freezing, the ground, snow white.
Away from the center of those woods,
Led by the moonlight.





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