Older Than This Tree
M
Marieta Maglas
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I sit next to this rare
Cork old tree.
I hear the sound of rustling
In its leaves.
I sit beside its sadness
While seeking out its loneliness.
I will never be the same.
I will never return.
I cannot stop the time
To change continuously.
I'm unacquainted
With changes.
Time has stood itself
Near my solitude.
I realize that
I'm older than this tree.
Poem by Marieta Maglas
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