/ Poem of a Dead Tree
I no longer have any leaves,
only thorns remain.
These thorns are not me.
You can no longer see
who I am.
I won’t go from being abundant to being defensive.
I live on,
and you’ve long become my opponent.
Don’t expect to surpass me,
don’t expect to surpass this river beside me,
don’t expect to surpass these reeds.
You can’t even expect to surpass a fallen leaf,
that is so beautiful,
yet you’re unable to be soundless.
You fear progress most.
I hold onto my backward, moist voice.
Wizened though I am,
I still circle your heart with my roots.
Once I die
you’ll slip away.
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