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That Tree

Stands all spring,
with all new buds, starting to sprout.
A Rope tied to it's branch,
made for a perfect swing.
Carved.
Into the beautiful, chipping bark,
are the initials of every passing couple.
Still there,
baking under the setting sun.
Leaves fully out.
Growing stronger,
when fireflies no longer light it at night.
When the stars no longer greet it,
but Autumn does.
Standing outstreatched and tall.
It's leaves multiple colors.
Outstanding from all the other trees.
A crinkled pile of withered nothingness,
is pulled away helplessly with a gust of wind.
Bare.
Cold.
Barren land.
With only ice to cover itself.
The long winter days surround it.
Believing it could die,
any given day.
It stays standing.
Perfect snowflakes falling neatly on the ground.
It starts again.
Back through all the seasons,
with hundreads of years aheead of it.
Yes that tree,
is MY tree.
For many years to come.





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