Posted on March 22, 2017 By T.W. Dondanville
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This is me,
I am but a tree.
With my roots in the ground,
I am able to grow round.
Through the winter cold,
until the river runs bold.
My branches are strong,
by the wind they sing a song.
Of patience and realness,
and love for stillness.
Category: Poetry Tags: colorado, environment, naturalist, poem, Poetry, tree
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