Created | Updated Nov 5, 2007
Outside my open window it looms.
Out of sight;
In the dark;
Standing guard.
The sweet scent of pitch from broken boughs
Fills the night;
And my thoughts;
Taking charge.
Hear the hiss and the whistle as the breezes blow by.
Little voices;
In the dark;
In the yard.
Those lonely whispers from the pine-tree spirits
Cause an ache;
Like a throb;
In my heart.
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