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The Tree and Me
When I was twenty-three I bought a white ash tree.
I said to myself I’ll grow this tree
so tall that the whole world will see.
As its long lushes leaves
reach above Heaven’s eaves.
I took that baby tree and rolled up my sleeves
and I planted that tree into the ground with a mothers’ love.
As it began to grow I would hear a morning dove
sing their gentle lullaby to the tree.
That’s when I knew I’d take my kids to this tree
It’s where they would play and be free.
But as the years went by and the tree grew I felt myself alone
yet the tree still went higher until it was full-grown.
Still I was burdened by the emptiness of being alone
The quiet crept into every crack and crevice
Leaving me saddened by the lack of a person’s essence, a thing so precious.
As the young dove no longer resided on the tree it had flown off and into the unknown.
It most likely found a partner and had kids, a long fulfilling life not on its own.
Time passed and I grew bitter towards the tree who aged with me with wrinkles in its side.
My anger only built up and I winced, maybe I never tried.
Yet a part of me always blamed the tree
it always felt so above me.
So I hauled out my ax and in one fell swoop the tree came to its knees.
It tumbled with such a mighty crash that I saw my life in a flash.
All that was left was the stump, old and worn like me, the poor white ash.
I layed there will the stump as the heavens and sky cried,
weeping for the poor tree who unjustifiably died.
There I sat till I turned to bones and bones to stones.
Until another person came and planted a tree
so I would never be alone, forever the tree and me.
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This piece feels very sad. I had fun writing it though.