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Lonely, a poem
Here I stand, majestic but old,
I remember the days of my youth
When I was admired for my beauty
Many would seek succour at my feet,
I gave relief to young and old,
People from many nations have made my acquaintance.
I gave my friendship freely,
I saw their faces light up at sight of me,
But I am only one, alone,
I have nothing to give.
Eventually they all leave me
To my solitude.
Now you see me,
Here I stand,
I strike a pose.
But after all, in the end,
What am I
But a dead tree?
Left here as scenery
For others to strike a pose.