Swaying, the tree to the wind.

Refusing to bend….

Damn the rain. Snow. Elements.

Meant to be more-a sign, show.

Here. Present. No peasant.

This time. Not vanished.

Banish creeping, crawling echoes of fears.

Place them in leaves that fall every year,

fight, sprout anew.

Through rust colors, green.

Again.

~~~

Submitted as part of One Stop Poetry’s One Shot Wednesday

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