from far far away,
in murky gray woods,
beneath sodden leaves
and an ashen forest floor,
I gaze toward the distance,
The sweeping fields of crops,
Like quivering quilts of green,
That cover the rolling hills.
Up toward the sky,
Blue as the lake below,
With silver flashing here and there
And children reading 'neath the trees.
from here i see the daylight,
see the people and their lives,
see their problems and their woes,
and i bask in my recluse.
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