A lonely tree in gorgeous gold bedecked
Stands out upon a desolate landscape
Her Autumn Glory deepened but not wrecked
Her purple amber in a state of Grace.
The winds have blown away her leaves
But some remain. Those that remain reveal a deeper hue
A multi-colored cloak against the winds
Resisting certain loss they stand, the few.
*
The tree's a rock. Unbending it denies
Bleak desolation, twisted limbs, the gusts
Rout all around, falling men and cries
Men are like trees. Some bend before the storms
But others struggle, gaining deeper hues
Gold streaked with silver, ascents without pause
veritas
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