Last of a Generation
A poem
she is the tree whose roots sink deepest
drinking from the well of memory
her branches spread wide
holding the weight
of all those gone before
her leaves whisper their names
to any who will listen
lest they be forgotten
she stands alone now
her family tree nearly bare
its legacy etched in her rings
her arms embrace the past
as she awaits the new buds
to blossom around her feet
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