Amidst the eye of a storm stood a sapling forlorn
Between two mighty spruces were branches of scorn
Taken much longer to sprout from its roots
Beckoned to land far beyond its astute
Each season yields aspirations anew
But nature's temper brings about a feud
To conform or defy with its branches up high
The young sapling waits looking mystified
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You just have to love that rythm! ;-)
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