Growth.
Hundreds of thousands
of millions of trees;
reaching for the sky,
seeking asylum.
From the moment they first sprout,
Their hopes and branches are high.
But they see this world.
The one we've made--
or destroyed--
and their souls are crushed.
They continue to grow,
weakened and frail.
Until they see the clouds,
the puffy white border
hiding away the heavens.
They stretch up--
Reach up--
Trees stand firm
for hundreds of years.
Ever growing--
Ever reaching--
for the heavens.
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