An Abstract Verse to the High-Class Citizens of a Certain Pine-Glade

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 I saw diamonds
Hanging, gleaming
By paths forlorn


Silent diamonds
Placidly sat
Gripping pinecones


Breeze blew over
Tripping sunlight
Brightly they shone


Sticky jewels
Made of pine-sap
With song-like moan


So the diamonds
And pine needles
Are onwards blown


These high-class folk
Of a quiet wood:
Culture sylvan

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