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The wind stirs me like the way you look at me
sometimes cold, sometimes quiet
more days of breaking branches and fallen limbs
yet the power is exhilarating
caught up in the storm and tumult
the virulent caress as I fall to pieces
whining in the breeze like a forlorn poet
hopeless voice and tedious 
breaking and begging
if you could stop and listen
hear the crack of my bones 
as you drop me down like new growth
you would sense
I pain and know as old forest