The trees look sad today,
lonely on the hill.
The wind played yesterday,
but now the air is still.
And the leaves have gone away.
Will you let your faces fall
where the leaves have died and fade?
Your figures still stand tall
though you cannot offer shade.
You shall yet bless us all.
For there will come a night
when gnarled, aching bones
will reach to cradle moonlight—
grace in silver tones
that fills us at the sight.
So, trees, be brave and stay,
standing on the hill.
Yield not to yesterday
while tomorrow breathes still—
share what’s yours today.
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