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Andrew
Poems
Apr 2019
The city grows
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 natureβs fire,
For which the youth plead.
Written by
Andrew
20/M
(20/M)
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110
J Robert Fallon III
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