The textures of a lifeso richly lived;
the scars, the bumps and bruises;
the tender shoots that spring
from that which went before
and is no more ---
yet still it stands,
still leans against the wind,
still draws sweet sustenance
from roots that trip us on the path;
and still leafs out in spring
to shade and dapple forest floor:
a gift of green
to color every breath we draw
with hope.
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