OCD
Beads of sap drip like molasses down a trunk
One marathon within each chunk
Pulled by a magnet two miles beneath the bark
They must make sleeping rivers in the dark
Amber marbles are burnt to dust
In a fraction of what they took to rust
But swift fire leaves only charred remains
And thick tar oozing once again from its veins
Posted Dec 2, 2022, 10:24 AM UTC
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