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Tree Poem
The rainy season is coming and the author cherishes these last few days among the trees.
The Trees
© Leslie Smith
As I sit in my chair on this fine warm evening,
I feel the trees as they move and breathe.
I see them high, up to the sky, sighing ever so quietly.
As I sit and remember the years of old, I hear my name called ever so bold.
I listen to their stories, as they stand tall before me, moving ever so gracefully.
They know time is nearing to grow cold and still, it will soon be wet and dreary.
For next year at this time I know they will be there, for me to listen to;
The stories I long to hear.
Cite this Poem:
As I sit in my chair on this fine warm evening,
I feel the trees as they move and breathe.
I see them high, up to the sky, sighing ever so quietly.
As I sit and remember the years of old, I hear my name called ever so bold.
I listen to their stories, as they stand tall before me, moving ever so gracefully.
They know time is nearing to grow cold and still, it will soon be wet and dreary.
For next year at this time I know they will be there, for me to listen to;
The stories I long to hear.
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