Untitled 2 Poem by James Pansegrau
Untitled 2
Walking up the shallow hill.
Upon its crest a tree doth wait.
It ponders over the mossy mill.
That so many of its brothers fell,
for it to turn and shake.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: brothers,tree
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8/28/2026 12:49:15 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
