A thousand hanging tresses of mellow green and gold, bending
toward the earth as if so very Cold.
I like to sit here under you, I hope you do not mind.
For life's road is often tiring and sometimes not so
kind.
It's nice to sit here under you , and listen to the Breeze
as it stirs your million tiny leaves.
You whisper of such happy things as your branches bend to
sweep.
But don't you thank it's odd, that it's Know
You, But I Who "WEEP".?
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