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What does the bent tree whisper
to its companion? How just in front of them
an old neighbor has become a mere stump
of her former self? How all these skinny
young trees surrounding them don't know
what a real forest is? Just look
at all the light they're letting through!
It's mottling our trunks, spilling splotchy
shadows and glops of color all over the soil!
What a mess! whispers the old bent tree.
On all sides the young trees catch
pieces of sky in jeweled leaf-facets:
Whee! This is the best green yet!
They let lots of light sift through,
amused by the avant-garde motley
that the elders, yearning for deeper
darker woods, despise.
October 6, 2002