The Tree That Rose


The tree that rose,

To make note of humble prose,

Never did they know, it had a better meaning,

Of living complete and rather gleaming…


Air as thin as polythene,

The tremors driving in,

An avalanche made of rubble,

Either, or, it won’t stumble…


A thriving beauty, it still stands,

Awaiting noon on heavy land,

The sea was high and the winds too,

They were never treated two for two…


But it never cared and never would,

Off came the tremors and shook the hood,

Would you change and take a stand?

Or just stand there and watch it brood?


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