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The Oak tree in autumn A tall mother with many sons Swaying gently in the breeze She drops her children without a care, Hitting their heads on the cold hard ground. The mother starts turning red, A final notion before death. Her children watch from the cold hard ground Wondering why she dropped them. The wind howls like a dog gone mad, Waiting for the cold-hearted snow to emerge. The children follow in rampage seeking revenge On their absent mother. The mother slowly withers away Wishing her children would understand, When the wind scratches mother gets weary, She must lower her kids to the cold hard ground. The mother slowly closes her eyes, As her children are swept away by the gale, And the wind howls like a dog gone mad And air begins to shiver.