Standing afar, bare and tall,
I spy the lonely winter tree,
Lacking severe impetus,
But digging deep to subsist.
Solace it finds in cycles,
A succession of seasons,
Varied are its reasons to live,
Unlike me, hardly utopian.
Not long ago, bathed in splendor,
Colors hues and thriving blossoms,
Spring is its ultimate vindication,
Belief in a new and bright morrow.
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