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The Tree

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I've always thought,
if this exists,
I'd like to come back to life
as a tree.
A brazen figure against wind and water,
standing alone to oversee
the world
until someone finds her among the
grass and thorns swaying in the breeze.
Then, she will become a playground,
a goal,
feel the pitter-patter of tiny shoes,
an unexpected summer rain,
running up and down her back.
Even when the sneakers are replaced
by the latest fashion,
she knows she will still have a friend,
so hard to find in this cruel world,
who uses her as a resting place
because the world is not as easy as once imagined,
and the black and white of childhood
is but a distant a memory.
She is the best confidante,
but though she tries to whisper comforting thoughts,
her words are lost with in the wind.
She witnesses the carving of initials into her chest,
as the first stirrings of love come,
and she witnesses the face leaving.
And even when 20,30,40 years have passed,
when she has lain forgotten in the woods,
alone and asleep,
she still dreams, one day,
to see the face again




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