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Tim Peetz Dec 2016
While willows swing in the summer breeze
a silvery ode fills the air
On a branch near the water
the little artist proudly presents his oeuvre.

For the world to hear, he skillfully sings
of dream-trodden paths and forgotten tales
But try as he might, the song that he sings
despite its grace in texture fails

And will never be more than a charming sound
the wind carries into the night.

— The End —