Anne Morrow Lindbergh


Bare Tree

Already I have shed the leaves of youth,
stripped by the wind of time down to the truth
of winter branches. Linear and alone
I stand, a lens for lives beyond my own,
a frame through which another's fire may glow,
a harp on which another's passion, blow.

The pattern of my boughs, an open chart
spread on the sky, to others may impart

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