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Rated: E · Poetry · Ghost · #2160494
Just a boy and his favorite tree...
My friend is a sycamore tree.
It stands as my sole company.
I love to climb that sycamore tree
And look out at the rooftops below.

From the branch of the sycamore tree,
I can see them, but they can't see me.
They buzz along with somewhere to be--
The people that come and go.

Time has passed, yet here's the sycamore tree,
While everyone else has forgotten me.
It's now just me and the sycamore tree,
Up in this field alone.

Now that no one visits me,
The only life I get to see,
Is this tall, proud sycamore tree,
Shading my headstone.

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