Jan 2011
From you the seed
to what I hold dear,
though now an old gnarled oak,
and afflicted,
you are in your final winter,
come spring
you will not leaf,
nor will a sparrow
find solace in your branches.
to what I hold dear,
though now an old gnarled oak,
and afflicted,
you are in your final winter,
come spring
you will not leaf,
nor will a sparrow
find solace in your branches.
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