Bare to the core;
away from my ilk
Decor gone; native
frills uncovered
On the spot, on the
road; in the traffic flux
Bones peeled away;
weathered, dark, tired
Frame standing firm.
I am an old world art
Rooted in our past;
rooted to your path
Moorings strong as
ever and pivot fickle fly
Your stare is what I
own; soothing my strain
Your heedless care
blocks the sun and the rain
Regards to you, your cool cucumber life. I have a bond.
see Note to my tree
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