The drowsy sound of weeping pines,
feel the sorrow of life so short.
A glistening fern, through which I walk,
Stands the bareness of an unknown sort.

The tearful cry, of past moments dear,
create a cheer for a future pledge.
In the forest known for glory days,
we dare to walk to the very edge.

This sylvan setting is in our hearts,
growing each day that we are here.
The tale of the hollow, covered in dew,
brings along a smile and also a tear.


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