so massively trunked
I can hug it, arms wide stretched,
and I wouldn't even span its breadth.
What is our grief,
if a day, a week, a year,
to it,
when it is two hundred years old, branching out low and high?
This is but a blip, if even that -
In the history of time, one day a lady lost her lovebird and was sad.
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