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Early dusk after an April snow
had sanctified the woods
he walked the path
of a higher lifeform
or so he used to think
under the trees listening
to the subtle harmonies
of wind in the budding crowns
the oldest swaying and sighing
in a song of their one place
which they never leave by choice
strong and peaceful and in touch
with each other their roots intertwined
it felt like they knew he was there.
O, how little we know.
