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The old tree drops a limb

The wet black leaves and the grey wet sky

soften the fall,

and wrap the tired flesh

in a cold warmth

and gentle whisperings.

Soon you will be

a mould,

dust,

earth

adventure.

The clean white of the break on the trunk

weeps a slow golden tear

that knew, when it was young,

the glorious limb's suppleness

and joyful dancing in the wind.