Poem: The Walking Tree

The waters are poisoned.
The sun does not shine in the way it used to.
The fish that swam beneath its roots, long gone.

The walking tree is slowly rising from the swamp;
adorned with red leaves that weep with every step,
sap leaks through cracks in the trunk,
solidifying as it slowly seeps towards the ground.
The walking tree drags thin tendrils of shoots as it lumbers away.

The walking tree is lonely and seeks new ground.
slowly it advances,       careful
to not drop its leaves (each leaf is precious),
careful to keep a clean path behind it
so that its absence is unnoticed.

A fretful wind gnaws through its branches.

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