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In my compound stands a tree,
Once it shed its leaves so free,
Now dressed in hues, alive, renewed,
A sign of change, both bold and true.
Seasons turn, we lose, we gain,
Old falls away, yet life remains.
What are we holding tight in fear,
That keeps new growth from drawing near?
The tree lets go, it knows the way,
To clear the past for a brighter day.
In shedding old, we find release,
And bloom begins where we find peace.
Author: @champsilva
@wanderer1 what's your take on this thought? 0 reply
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