THE LONELY RED MAPLE
by Linda Bates Terrell
One bare tree stands alone
Near the sky its branches soar
My yard is it's anual throne
I admire at it from my door
With it's red leaves falling fast
Each one from it parts not to last
Yet I hunger for the days gone past
As its glory was bright and full
Tomorrow I will gaze upon it again
Somehow now it seems so sad and dull
As within it winter flows cold as sin
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