The Oak Tree in the Snow (1829).

In the ruined Garden
Loomed the old tree of Arden
Like a giant spectre
It occupied a sector
Of countless creatures, it bore the burden

Slowly at the distant horizon
Dark clouds set in motion
And then a perfect storm
Came in its ravenous form
The tree bore it all, like a sturdy mizzen

Now, the garden has to see
The withering of the old Tree
It’s branches turn hollow
It’s shade still mellow
It’s deep roots yearn to be Free



Lazy Armchair Philosopher

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