A Tree We Know

I once gazed and saw Deja vu
Who knew
It hung from a tree of melancholy
A color of sorrow blue
With roots,
Of sunshine hue
Its leaves of see through
I watched as it grew
But it was nothing new,
Reruns on tape
But most,
Were misshaped
Like reflections
Of mirrors across
Miles of rippling landscape,
Its fruit,
Dangled beneath a flower,

It held the blushing fruit
Like a parachute,
A delight,
Yet its presence
Was of dilute,
A watered-down version
Of a happy pursuit,
Like drink
Over an artist to play the flute,
Euphoria, but with a kink,
Like roots in soil parched,
Inability to truly think,
All things upon a brink,
Oh, how delightful it seemed,
The tree of Deja vu,
But it has had its debut,
So must I not clap,
Give applause,
Move on
To what will be anew,
For there are many seeds,
And much, much is due.