A young and slender maple tree
sprouts up from the leafy ground;
a larger tree that lost its grip
now bends the maple down.
No longer does it face the sun
nor eye the night with pride;
it arches back into the earth
and stretches out its side.
The little tree was in the way
when time allowed the fall;
the top is pinned by larger wood,
no longer straight and tall.
The tree, however, summons life:
what’s down is dry an dead;
a little tree beset with strife
lives on and bows its head.
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