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The mother tree

Each needle

one of a million daughters

shed by the mother tree

over and over

she makes a new

and sure enough

every year

lets gravity return them to the ground

There to fall again

in to become

the soft spongy soil

underfoot

To feed her

or to feed those who feed her -

the my-ce-lium

who from one object

forge a new substance

on which she is only to be made again

The forest is floored with these

children, offspring

sprung

springy to the step

they jump scamper and scatter

their mother watching

with no concern

for the fall to come

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