Memories like trees bloom within my mind.
From a small sapling the tree grows
Until it becomes full, the leaves stretch and reach for the sun.
Slowly the roots grow deeper and deeper into the ground, holding strong to it.
Young and vibrant the tree stands--
Still fresh and new as it feeds off the sunlight.
Time goes on for the tree.
Golden rings are placed upon the finger that shoots up from the ground,
It produces sons and daughters, which go far away to grow up.
Then the tree becomes old and crippled--
The wind gnawing at its joints.
However, if the tree is cut down, dragged off
And leaves its stump behind only to have it ripped away from the ground,
Which it has grown to and loved for so long--
Its roots are still planted firm within the mind
And proves to give testament to the memory from long ago.
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