#8770

88

Nov. 24, 2020, 9:16 a.m.

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Sam*In chat*: "Alas, poor tree. Chopped at the prime of thine life. 
Your branches shall never bear pinecones. Thine spreading roots cut short. 
Cursed never to rise to the sky, 
But to fall, dead after the holidays.
 Alas, poor tree." Duval: Sam, are you okay?