The tree bends and sings
The tree bends on the grassy plain,
Bowed by the wind, branches twisted down like an old woman on a knotty cane,
Sculpted by a care-less hand, like a miniature tree plucked from a private menagerie and abandoned to the ceaseless wind for comfort.
The tree bends, the tree sings to the accompaniment of crickets in autumn, long grasses heavy with seed.
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