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The Peacock Tree
A Peacock's tail wide open like a shield,
he strutted by, a walking work of art,
across the brook bridge and the forest field,
lost in a dream where beauty played a part.
A twist of Fate, not malice nor design!
His feathers fused with bark as he sank root.
Where once he preened, now branches intertwine,
whose iridescent leaves are his new suit.
No longer does he fan his jeweled train,
but stands in quiet grace, his splendor fixed
as Tree of Life, yet holds his proud domain,
his essence into arborescence mixed.
Behold this transformation, bold and free:
where once there stood a Bird, now grows a Tree.
Poem and image by Philip Nikolayev