Beneath the azure sky, a tree stands bright,
Its trunk a beacon, purest white and round,
A sentinel of shade from sun’s harsh light,
With branches swaying gently, safe and sound.
Its blossoms, delicate as morning’s breath,
Unfold in hues of dawn, a tender grace,
Their fragrance softens sorrow, stills all death,
A balm to weary hearts in summer's place.
In days of past, I found my solace there,
Beneath its canopy, a world apart,
The whispers of the wind, a loving care,
The tree, a cherished friend within my heart.
But time has swept its leaves away from me,
Yet in my dreams, its presence shall always be.
Amid the meadow, stands a tree of white,
Its trunk a circle, perfect in its form,
A refuge from the sun’s relentless might,
A haven where the heart can rest and warm.
Its flowers bloom in colors soft and fair,
A spectrum born from dreams and morning dew,
Their fragrance weaves a spell upon the air,
A promise that the world can still renew.
In earlier days, I sought its cooling shade,
Its branches wrapped me in a sweet embrace,
A silent friend where memories were made,
Its whispers calmed my soul, a gentle place.
Though time has moved this dear tree from my view,
Its spirit lives in all the things I do.
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