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Bare Butternut Tree

by Hilda Conkling

A tree stands old and worn;
The North has blown away its leaves.
When I see it that way
I wish Spring would return . . .
How can I wait so long?

O butter-nut tree,
Why didn't God give you speech,
And you without your green leaves?
Why can't you sing small songs
Against the wind
For comfort?

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