Tree


I am a tree.
My branches maybe withered, cold and bare.
But my trunk is strong, good roots that never stir.
I may look sad, black against a gray sky,
But I'm a survivor I long to fly.
When the season is over and cold turns to spring,
My life will begin, and my song I will sing.
As the wind blows through my full thick leaves,
I'll finally be able to see,
That through all this torture and all this pain,
The shimmers of joy that shone through the rain.
As the sun shines down from above,
I'll finally believe in faith, hope, and love.

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