The tree stands patiently with bare branches on show,
An easy target for the bitterness of the winter wind.
But nobody will question why its leaves won’t grow,
As they keep faith that an emerald coat will return in spring.

The shore is revealed to be a vast empty space,
Abandoned again by the fickle and frivolous sea.
But the moon is the master who guides the tide’s place,
And welcoming waves will return as quickly as they did flee.

Don’t shout at the sun when it leaves us at night,
Or when grey clouds obscure it from view.
Have faith it will grace us again with its light,
Bringing more precious chances anew.

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