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Apr 2019
I long for the sloping valley, sliding earth free,
For the conquered hill from which is born
            The oak tree.

In all the loveliness the forest presents,
I will observe, quiet, like a servant
            The green tents.

The rain, a lovely song it sings against the leaves;
A drum of nature’s fire,
For which the youth plead.
Written by
Andrew  20/M
(20/M)   
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