Sunburnt faces feel free,
In your shadow, my dear tree
Your branches are thick,
A perch for the featherless chick
Your branches go up and down,
With a gust of the breeze,
And, the shadow comes and goes
Slowly, but with ease.
As I watch you
At your affection.
For soon, wintry cold replaces
The summer’s scorching heat.
The sun sets into the darkening sky
And makes you a snow-covered sheet.
You become the grace of my garden
A place for playful children.
They make snowballs to splash,
unaware of worldly clash.
Before long, they slip the splash,
Pick an axe to catch the clash,
Then, they wish for rest and peace
And your cool shadow’s leis.
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