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My dear favourite tree
About 90 years old you would be
Proud on the mountain top
Next to the hills I climb up
Out of breath I sit there and stare
Silent together we breathe the fresh air
Hugging you, it feels warm, wet or cold
You are a beauty, have you been told?
All those years you have stood your ground
What if we changed places, and you walked around?
Take my legs with the wobbly thighs
Go and see the town, the people that make you wise
Or have a look at the sea with the high waves.
Maybe you're too old and can't take the strain
I come and greet you on the way to the next farm
Wave your leaves so I can see you from afar
I will hold you as a memory in my mind.
See you next time ....
By Antonia Elias