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■ The oak
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The sunlight is slowly dimming.
I cannot feel its warmth. My hands are cold, and my eyes are gleaming With the warm tears they hold. The path is rocky and the wind picks up the dust. I cover my eyes and strive forward. I must cross this path, I know I must, But my legs are stiff and my strength lowered. I step slowly over dead leaves. The trees are cold and barren. I wonder where their spirits went. I wonder-will my spirit follow theirs? I raise my eyes to the dark-blue sky And I try to capture the lights of all the stars, to make them all mine. As I walk down the path I begin to cry. The stars are ancient; yet see how their lights shine! I stand on the riverbank and watch the river flow. The water is muddy, and I’m afraid to cross. The man is waiting. He calls to me and tells me I’m too slow. I plead with him to wait longer, but alas! I feel my soul leaving my body. The light that shone is gone. I’m alone, and I reach the end. I surrender. I’m done. The road is long, and hard to travel. And I wish I could continue to turn the page. There’s nothing worse than reaching the end, Not even the pain of old age.
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