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The Old Withered Tree

In a dreary desert
Where only autumn prevails
Stands an old withered tree
With its branches pale

It's leaves are falling
Day by day
It's body becoming weak
With shades of grey

The clouds come and go
It longs for the rain
It starts dying
As it's roots cry in pain

It prays for the rain
Till it's last breath
But it's hope seems to get lost
And the desert becomes it's deathbed

Droplets of rain falls
On the dry body of the tree
As if the clouds are crying
In the memory of "The Old Withered Tree"


21 thoughts on “The Old Withered Tree”

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