What a treat! More poetry! This one second draft, too:
To the century old Box Elder-
having passed throuh one too many cycles
of moisture then long drought,
though with a full crown of anxious new leaves
and a trunk as big around as
twelve handsome men;
when the wind blows
and then slackens
to blow anew,
it's the heart that matters
(especially if the skin has cracked.)
And, if the root has gone dry,
all the tea in China
won't save that grand
from the fires
of the coming winter.
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