“What is ‘This’?”

Standard

 

This is not a rose

Blushing once in bloom,

In a moment red to brown

And cankered, root and stem.

 

Nor is this a flame

Burning bud and branch,

Consuming and consuming,

Producing only ash.

                                          

Yet this is not a stone

Indifferent to the wind

Or fanfare of sunrise or set,

Eroding into sand.

 

No. This is a tree—

Its core a growing green—

That weathers every winter

And blossoms every spring.

 

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