A lonely birch tree sets itself apart
Like a silver hair against the dark
Black branches of the other trees on a
Cold winter day.
The brutal late winter wind sends
These nakes branches flying like
Tangled hair from a summer convertible
Unfettered and out of control.
When unsaved humanity bows before the
Throne of God, their sins uncovered,
Their mortal lives laid bare,
His chosen ones shall be the shining
Silver of a copse of birches, set
Apart from the dark forest of black branches.
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