i love to watch
the old oak tree
and count the changes
i can see
in summer leaves
all green and gay
whisper gently
come out and play
autumn comes
the days grow cold
the leaves they rustle
now we're old
the winter's here
the tree is bare
the leaves have gone
i don't know where
but spring arrives
i look and see
brand new buds
on the old oak tree
~ an old old english textbook
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