In the rain, stands a lonely tree
Alone, cold, and all by itself.
It has no memory of what birds have nested,
Or of the travellers, under it’s shade who have rested.
Yet it knows, what season it is
And what loves, have come and gone.
The rain is full of ghosts tonight.
The tree bows to the strong winds,
It’s branches more silent now, than ever before.
Inside the lonely tree, stirs a quiet pain
For the unforgotten memories.
The tree knows that the birds have gone
As the rain chases away the night.
The wise old tree also knows, in the morning,
They will be back, warbling.
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