the initials carved into the tree
out front of grandma's house
an incantation, proving
nothing of magic in this world
soil better for the seeds
bucolic burials left to feed
lies uproot, the defying tree still stands
the letters will not dissolve with rot
what erases or creeps upon, mires what one once knew
none shall know, but there is smooth, healthy skin there
the sun through leaves makes this clear
no pain from bark can disappear.
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