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Bristlecone
Strong sentinel on high
Beneath a mountain sky;
Called by name Bristlecone.
Twisted tree all alone
With green needles so dark
Life clings stoic and stark.
Worn wood with thin bark edge
Locked to a limestone ledge.
Thousands of years flowed past
‘Gainst snow and wind, a mast.
No sails with which to fly
You grew gnarled by-and-by.
Drought and quakes, you did face
Yet you held firm your place.
Despite all nature’s strife,
How do you cling to life?
Copyright ©
David Drowley
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