Old
Roots that run deep,
And knees so stiff.
A presence so dim,
A being with no calling.
Wasting land with no plan,
And branches with no clan.
Leaves that are ripped,
And purity that's stripped.
So old and forlorn,
And hoping to deform.
With nothing to mourn,
And treated with scorn.
A curse has been cast,
With knowledge so vast.
In this world, an outcast,
Longing for the past.
But will eventually come to pass.
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