TREE OF LIFE
When I was young, we lived out on the plains.
Sometimes I would not see a tree all day.
I used to dream my afternoons away
wishing I could see one. How it stains
the fabric of my memory and pains
the little boy inside me when each May,
in my new home, I watch the children play
among the trees, and in my heart it rains
to think that I grew up without such leaves.
The universe is filled with countless suns.
Their names could fill a billion billion sheaves.
But none of them is worth your time or breath
compared to my new home. A wise man runs
to places where new leaves demolish death.
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