In the side of a cliff
I see a tree,
Breaking out from the
forest, it seems free,
Its leaves ritually
swaying,
Calm not fretting nor
fraying,
White, you are so
white!
Are you cold? Do you
freeze?
‘Tis like ice out
here,
In the midst of this
breeze,
Yet strong you grow,
Only ever slightly,
Moving to and fro,
Frighteningly white as
a ghost,
I wonder about the
soil you use,
These nutrients you
choose,
Is there much
substance and sense?
Or do you plant
yourself just merely for the view?
The soil is leeching,
still beseeching,
You calm,
Yet a cliff is where
you’ll be pushed,
Strong and beautifully
willed,
Have you chosen to be
filled,
With what you know,
Shall not last?
Whiter and paler you
become,
Still strong and not
yet numb,
Not much longer can you
stand,
Mighty and
majestically,
Gum,
In this valley,
You shall wander,
With
no borders,
Not as a ghost gum,
As a ghost.
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