Bending her limbs towards the ground
The old tree sighed.
Only two remained and she
Was badly misshapen.
A cold wind
And age
Had dismember the other branches
Gophers gnawed at the gnarled old roots
But still
She had managed one last small harvest
Can I try again?
One more year?
Do I have the strength?
Sixty seven years
My tree and I
But we had the sweetest apples.
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