Old Tree
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Many a gust had ruffled its composure
And made its branches shake with fear
Many a raindrop had battered its pride
Till it could hold no more its head high
Bent by the wind or the rain
Stunned into silence by the autumn's sighs
The tree is old and rough
Its leaves are a pale green
But it still sings to a weary passer-by
The songs of the youth and spring.
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