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

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Lazy Armchair Philosopher

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