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Of Dreams Conversing with the Sky

It comes in spring's brightest noon,
Two sturdy willows, side by side,
That in spite of frost and wind
Grow tall, their roots intertwined.

From the bones of land, they withstood;
Under callous ground, their roots grew.
Branching from their deepest source,
The pupil of the tree they conform to.

Yellow birds,
whose heavy wings have tired in upward flight,
Land without song on the willow trees.
And as they breathe the still noon in,
They envy the clouds passing in the breeze.

Without warning, as a vulture dives for its prey,
the birds take flight, pursuing their groundless dreams.
Their intent seems beyond each branches' reach;
Their presence, as brief as the rustling of a leaf.

But the willows wait the spring's heat,
Side by side, standing serenely on.
For their loyal roots are
determined to but one ground.



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