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Towering above green pastures,

Swaying, in the wind,

Flow softly, the icy river,

Wraithlike mists arising.

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The scent of autumn,

Fills our lungs with life,

Whispers from the mire,

Tell their tales wearily,

Tales of seasons past,

These olde lands survive the aeons,

Reclaiming their soil, roots run profound,

Yearning for the return of nature