I look up and see the leaves protecting my face.
I look down and see the roots run deep and far.
The worn path nearby exposes dirt to the sun.
The tree doesn't seem to mind.
People move like bursts of light
Passing by, climbing, cutting down.
Moss grows up the north side.
The tree stands in a yearly stretch.
Man doesn't understand this life.
For them, life necessitates speed.
Man is happy with his haste.
Maybe that is why this tree was
Here when I came and will be
Here when I die.
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