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Cecilia Jones Mar 2016
The tree smells like petrichor in a forest full of lost hope and memories.
The tree tastes like old berries macerated into a thick liquid.
The tree looks like twisted branches reaching desperately towards the sky.
The tree feels like gnarled bark beneath one’s fingers
The tree sounds like a bird which sings no more.
I had to write a poem for school only to find out I based it on the wrong setting of a book, so I decided to post it here. (Petrichor is the smell of rain.)

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