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Poem

In a forest grove, where shadows dance,
Stands a gnarled tree, a symbol of chance.
Its twisted branches reach towards the sky,
A source of inspiration, none can deny.

Through countless seasons, it stood the test,
Weathering storms, it never lost its zest.
With roots deep and strong, firmly it clings,
Teaching us lessons that inspiration brings.

From its gnarled form, stories unfold,
Whispering secrets, untold and bold.
Each twist and turn, a tale of resilience,
A reminder to find strength in our existence.

In a world of faith, a gnarled atheist stands,
Defying beliefs, questioning the divine's demands.
With a mind unyielding, and thoughts unbound,
They traverse the realm of reason, profound.

No prayers whispered, no gods to adore,
Their path is paved with skepticism and more.
Through logic's lens, they seek to explore,
The mysteries of life, its essence to restore.

But in the depths of their skeptical soul,
Lies a yearning for truth, an eternal goal.
They seek understanding, beyond what we see,
In the wonders of science, in knowledge set free.

In the depths of time, a soul so old,
A gnarled person, weathered and bold.
Lines etched deeply upon their face,
A map of wisdom, earned through grace.

Their hands, like branches, twisted and bent,
Each wrinkle a story, a life well spent.
With every step, a slow, steady gait,
A testament to battles fought, never too late.

Their eyes, like windows, weathered and wise,
Reflecting the world, its lows and its highs.
Through storms and sorrows, they've stood tall,
A beacon of strength, through it all.

Their voice, like whispers, gravelly and low,
Carries echoes of wisdom, of stories untold.
Each word, a nugget of truth and insight,
Guiding lost souls towards the light.

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