Dear tree,
how could it be there is an empty swinging seat
when what we ever knew was sitting close to you.
How long will we be alone and quietly
waiting for more nesting birds.
Now old Claret Ash
you are a hundred years tall,
keeping time for flyers-by seeing the sky,
or just sheltering among your burgundy leaves
before rain comes again.
Life is all about coming and going,
growing or knowing
that everything bursts with joy in spring.
So let us all young and old
swing high or slow, being the way nature goes.
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