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The friendly oak tree; marking my daily journey,
It had to be chopped down; rotten, decayed,
I had to watch; rotten, decayed.
I saw it felled before my tear stained eyes,
I withered and wondered how to find my path,
Once so clear and bright.
Where once, I gave no thought to it,
Confusion strains,
Consciousness wanes.
Without the guidance of my friend, the tree, I grope along,
It is of no use, attempting to recall my path,
The tree, I, the path had all been one,
The tree, now decayed, I, now withered, the path, now lost forever,
The tree, now decayed; light blinds my eyes and wind deafens my ears,
My senses overburdened; no path can I see,
The wind appears to whisper, "The true path can never be found”,
There exists only self, vanity, emptiness,
All paths return to that void, choose any,
Estranged now, from the familiar comfort of the sturdy oak,
I trudge aimlessly along no path,
Angrily, kicking oak leaves, this way and that,
What is this, blown suddenly to my feet?
An acorn! Does it define all?
The oak, myself, the path, ....... the universe?
Now, alone, I toast my loyal friend, the oak,
With sour grape wine,
And worship the mystery of acorns.
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