Whether Ent or Huorn or Treant
Perhaps even he no longer remembers
Which is why the willow weeps
With fading memories of Isengard
Yet proudly shows his battle scars
To the moon and drifting stars.
But his cousins graciously decline
To fall prey to his melancholy
They dance upon a gentle breeze
And hope to lightly charm him
With their beauty and quiet grace
To put a smile upon his face.
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