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About This Poem
Tree in a Field
This field of fog contains a tree
One of movement and mystery
The limbs go about in that way
As if its life goes and does say
Illusions, the heart, it can see
The field is all grey it can’t be
Like the tree, worshiped entity
It seems barren during the day
This field of fog
The tree shapes itself endlessly
In some uneven shapes blindly
It cannot form where it does lay
Signature branch off where it may
In a full field dying darkly
This field of fog
Russell Sivey
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