the tree in full bloom
is full of birds, and why not.
it's green. the sun is high.
the air is sweet with summer,
it seems as if it will
never end. this youth
so full of loves.
such is our lives,
our trees,
so full of life, but in
winter
how it empties, each bird
having vanished
one by one to somewhere
beyond, off into another
season, out of reach, out
of sight.
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