Its branches ride the winds of time,
The days and weeks and years sublime,
Of what does the tree see for thee?
What vision of comfort will come to be?
The wind blows bends the growing boughs,
Time twisting the shoots to shape the nows,
Its mall formation stoops low and bare,
Small creatures hiding look out and stare,
From beneath its canopy of feathery leaves,
Take comfort from the harsh winter breeze,
What do they see those little eyes?
What vision of happiness will arise?.
Thanks for reading
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Living on the Edge 