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When you were gone
we planted a young tree
in memory
and twenty years later
from that day
I wonder
how you have grown
Are you a gentle birch
sighing in the breeze
or an apple bearing maiden
or a larch with golden leaves
Maybe you are a willow
with trailing veils and skirts
a fragrant pine
or a somber elm or an ash
with spinning keys
I will return
I’ll come alone
and sit within your shade
A tree it is eternal
A poem
not a grave

— The End —