Old dying tree
Should I cry for thee?
Oh no! Nor should anyone weep for me.
Your stature shows,
In your death throws,
What you have seen only heaven knows,
With new light won,
A sapling, your son,
Has been watching everything you’ve done.
The future’s called him,
From the forest floor dim,
With time he will match you, limb for limb.
A child I see,
And my thoughts shall be,
That he shall grow even greater than thee.
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