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Requiem Upon a Fallen Tree

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The morning after the storm,
I saw a Tree had come down:
Old, grown strong from nothing,
Now dead, torn up at the roots.
We went down to mourn it. You
showed me how the roots were weak,
kicked at the rotted wood;
chopped it up for firewood as I watched.
Had the wind not blown so fiercely,
Had it not lashed out at our Tree,
We would never have known of the rot-
Tree might even have flourished.
“But,” you point out. “The tree knew.”
The tree knew.

About Big Rook

Chess coaching and events in the north-west of England

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