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The Big Mean Truck
The trunk was huge
and the leaves were plentiful.
The roots dug deeper in the ground
than any other in the neighborhood.
It’s sturdiness and size
was something to see;
all the kids seemed so tiny
when standing next to it.
We all looked to the top,
the bright summer sun so bright,
it blinded our innocent eyes.
It seemed so far up, the top of that tree,
but that didn’t stop us
from climbing it until that sun
slowly disappeared into the night sky.
My mom, she woke me up
that day with a look on her face.
I knew something was happening,
my little mind just didn’t know what.
“They’re cutting down your big tree”
She said, knowing how I felt.
“I’m sorry” was all she could say
while she gave me a pat.
I ran outside
and saw the big mean truck.
It was here to knock down
that old tree.
I watched it come down.
The thud it made when it hit the ground
hurt my ears
and hurt my heart.
The tree was gone forever
and all that was left
was a small stump
sitting in the middle of my yard.
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