“The pine I climbed when I was nine.”

I ran an old poem of mine here not too long ago called “Not of Byzantium;” you guys were really cool about giving me positive feedback.  (Thanks for that, by the way.)

Then I found an old photo of the tree I described in the poem — “the pine I climbed when I was nine.”  I snapped it during a trip to New York two years ago, and it surfaced when I was cleaning out some old computer files.  I’d forgotten all about it.

I wish I’d run this photo with the poem.

 

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