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City Trees


Are city trees sad

When their seeds fall

On barren soil?

Each year the same,

No little ones nearby.


They have no choice, of course,

And it’s me who’s sad.

But it’s not for them.


How much we project.

What do we really know

Of the world out there?


Each year’s new leaves draw me,

The old trees, new growth,

The old teaching:

No growth, no life.


How can trees be sad,

Resplendent in such luscious growth,

Waving green-laden braches

In summer winds?


Yet my new growth

Leaves me sad

For all that might have been.


I think, perhaps,

I shall become a tree,

Give up this restless mind,

This aching heart.

Instead, I’ll wear new leaves,

Reach up into the sky,

Waving my arms

Wildly in the wind.

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