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Transplanted Pine
Hello to transplanted pine,
trapped along horizon-line;
bushels stricken with decline
by changing clime. In due time,
you'll shake away and sever
the cover felled together
by skies, now all the better.
You'll stand the winter's beating
with glades of white -- and greeting
day with wide, bright and fleeting
smile, remain, defeating
those who would do you such wrongs,
while you lay your selves along
a place they could prosper from.
