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300 years
have passed,
you were as old as time.
Your leaves dropped
every winter, your flowers
were received with a gasp.
Strangers joined
under your blossoms,
sharing the shade with the grass.
What a colorful image!
All realms mingling
without spite.
How I long to remember
morning dew in spring,
the rooted stillness,
the language of the wind.
How I long to recall
the thread between lives,
the web that connects us all,
the heartbeat when you were I.