from the hollow in the chest
where the blood boiled
and heart beat grew
a tree
that flowered only once a year
for a single day
before the storm winds blew
the petals away
more than they bargained for
the grove they grew
an oak tree from their eye
that in the autumn grew
acorns that could see
an island surrounded by a sea
of flowing grasses
blades of shining green
bracken and broken branches
arcing out a loving arm
in the evening sun
the golden bough
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