A Pine Tree
The pine tree in its mystery, it sings
Of fighting, battles, bravery, wars won.
Through its needles the cannon rings
Faint memories of Attila the Hun;
Of great Arthur as Excalibur sings;
Alexander, his conquest done.
This immortal tree has seen many things:
Its roots soaked in blood, witnessed the first sun;
Bent by the wind, frozen as the ice stings;
And it lives on, seared by those machine guns.
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