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The Tree

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Skin of iron
Forged from within
Dilapidated feebleness
Your being doth spurn
Rooted and true
As if paused for cue
To stop Earth’s spiral turn
Girded in life
Surrounded by might
Twisting as is willed
As others are stilled
Grasping for air
In your sight
Yet you fall
Since filled with spite
No thought for one
You continue
Upon new venue
As a new life
You have spun




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