All the Days Were Nights
To live is the rarest thing in the world.
Most people exist, that is all.
A tree, in winter, stands out against the snow;
no one is surprised by a tree in winter.
In summer it is different; the surprise of a tree then,
and that is when people stop beneath the branches.
Without the leaves the limbs are like long fingers,
stretched out for something—but what?
A bird—but where?
The tree is waiting, but for what?
Without the leaves, in summer,
people walk on and never know.
_____ AKSHR
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