Tree

In the meadow
stands a tree
With fanned branches
And petite leaves.

And in those days,
When you were new
With pudgy fingers
And dirty toes, 
The adventure of climbing this tree
Called to you.

You answered.

And with each tug at the bark, 
You pulled yourself up
to the heights of heaven
that can only be known
with youthful eyes.

Now that your fingers are dirty
With the toils of labor
from long, hard days
You long for that tree.

Limbs of wild timber  
Call your soul to a softer, deeper place
While roots 
Penetrate the soil of your humble heart
Like fond memories.

The adventure of climbing
Still calls to you.

Answer.

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