A little something I thought to pen on a whimiscal moment of yearning. (:
When nights are longer, and days are colder.
It doesn't make any sense.
But with pining, it does.
Where care and concern will not suffice,
the seed of anxiety is planted.
Fear and anger start to take root.
Leaves of distrust and loneliness grow.
The tree has grown.
Quite immeasurably big.
Casting dark shadows instead of shade.
To chop down and start anew or instead
raze to the ground and from the ashes
out might come a burning symbol of rebirth.
A pheonix, waiting to start all over again.
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