The trees stand boldly,
swaying in the gentle wind,
but still holding ground.
swaying in the gentle wind,
but still holding ground.
Slender limbs fan out,
Parallel to the sky
Instead of reaching,
Wanting to be the open blue,
Accepting that
Though the tree will never
I’m sitting beneath a tree,
Tangled
In the roots,
My fingers gripping those
Of each soil-soaked tendril
I want to breathe
Both with looming skyscrapers,
And mountains stretched high,
To feel the sun
Smiling on my skin,
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