they come to count my rings
to see if the numbers match
and measure my bands for proof
the years I was watered more
a single round
thinned by one's drought
but still there, no doubt
the rescue efforts
made by a tribe
when they saw my value
stood by my side
through wind and hail
collecting my broken branches
to be put to use
and nourish my roots
in the earth's decay
and where lovers carved their mark
into my outer rim
my bark grew over
shrank each scar
to the size
of a graceful lesson
on the impact of sharp objects
and sharper words
they see I skipped no seasons
the dark, the light
and admire the space between
they come to count my rings
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