The Circled Pines

On lonely hill stands a circle of pines, speaking only to the wind,
for goodbye is eventual fate for the wise old trees in end.
alone they stand, alone they'll fall through season's come and gone,
but what they know was told to me by wisps of lives lived long.
The circle of pines are friends to me, as long as sap still flows,
for their loved hill was home to me, and from it I still grow.
From roots held deep in fertile ground, is love of all the times,
when man was boy and trees were cones; all have their circled pines.

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