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The tree is bare now
in preparation for winter
shuddering in crisp wind
birds are flying
testing their wings
in a cold blue sky
they must go
and I must stay
in the ruins of my life
this is not my home
but knowing
that I should not be here
does no good
life gives me
few choices
I do what I must
not thinking of what might be
untl it is far too late

by: Karen Damon 11/1986