Jim Milks (2/7/1966 / Boston)
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The Old Tree
The old tree stood alone on the hill withered and broken he stands there still
his branches hang low, nearly touch the ground but still he stands he has not fell down.
His lush green leaves have all but gone the tree stands on the hill lost and furlong.
Once he was young and straight and tall, stood through the summer, winter, and fall, he knew the laughter of children playing in his branches,
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