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The Tree
My tree stood tall.
The prettiest of her kind.
Roots long and deep.
Vivacious leaves.
Impossible green.
Grew blossoms of pink. And white.
Her hair hosted animals.
The dress changed to red and orange.
She adored warm weather.
Exhaling glints of sun.
Winter brought sickness.
Bark chipped.
Leaves ran.
Cold.
I still loved her.
I tried everything.
Soil. Water.
Endless blur.
Grass tall again.
But she had no smile.
Her legs collapsed.
I could have found a way.
I loved her in her ugliest moments.
I think she did so back.
We were just meant to be.
My grandmother lived in our living room in hospice. This is cancer. And love.