Light, a shining crown, radiates around her,
While jewels and precious diadems surround her.
Her arms and fingers, raised in prayer, begown her,
With shades of green and yellow leaves abound her.
Her trunk forms circled lines for generations,
And counts the years of dry and moister iterations.
Her roots, like fingers, have all one obligation,
To seeks the paths of springs and earthly inundation
Her nectar flows, up from the earth, to seek the light
That makes the food flow down again with all its might.
And on the ground, discarded branches grow at night
The mushrooms and the insects that feed our fright,
And while a man, for ninety years, may roam the earth,
And seek his immortality in off-spring's birth,
A tree will, for two thousand years, augment his girth,
And help our generations find shade and peace and mirth.
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