My flowers are not scented
and the strong odor butterflies don't like.
That's why I think they flew away.
My fruits are not ripen
...
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Very touching poem. I can still remember the giant elm trees that were so much a part of my younger years. One of them I still see in my dreams at times. Perhaps there is a special place where the old trees go when they outlive their usefulness. One can always hope... Regards, Sandra
There is much beauty in nature, it seems to have the gift of recycling itself. A great write Love Duncan