117| The lemon tree

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A lemon tree we had,
In our garden full of roses,
It never bloomed,
Its roots like gigantic tentacles,
Would cross over the concrete floors,
Would stop the small plants from growing,
Would crawl deep into the soil,
It was dead,
Or so I was told,

My paper planes hung on it's branches,
It's leaves, miraculously green would be my muse,
Until one day,
It was cut apart,
From its roots,
Taken out of the ground,
For it was dead,

Mother said,
That it was taking space,
It wouldn't let others grow,
And they weeded it out
For it was time to let go,
Let go of the things that were dead in your life,
Let go of the ones who aren't worth your time,
And space,
Let go of your dead self,
Let go.

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