I recently read a beautiful poem by Robert Frost called “Tree At My Window.” It was about the companionship of the speaker and the tree itself. I thought upon how closely tied we are to the living things around us and the simultaneous nature of which we grow together yet separately. There happens to be a lovely tree that stands across my  window. A tree that I have spent days looking out at, subconsciously growing with and becoming attached to. I thought I would try my hand writing about that tree.

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Tree at MY window

 I look to you when the sun casts it last shadow

And the spring bred clouds retreat,

Leaving me a dust of darkness densely scattered,

Swallowing all but the opalescent stars

Whose luster dulled by nights mock light wanes.

 –

I rest upon your bending bough deaths revival,

Renewed hope and discarded dreams,

But I am not as green to think

Your branches house alone my despondency,

For withered eyes grown cold to you

 Unknown to me have long been buried.

 –

It is but a dream that I be withered too

As youthful eyes seek solace in your immortality

For my years are fixed, never to replenish,

As your limbs lay dormant only to revive

With vigorous vitality.

 –

But what I have not in years, I have in ability

To drift meaninglessly as I please,

Only to find myself here again,

Growing smaller as your ever extending arms

Struggle to defeat mankind’s growing reach.

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