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The empty lands

Watch the cold waves crashing on the ashen sands,
hear the babbling blackbird in forgotten fields,
sniff the spring, all incense in the empty lands,
and feel the endless power nature wields;
midst the hilltops hugging as the clouds go by
round the water falling down a rocky slope,
'neath the sunset sailing through the stricken sky
is the home I hallow with this song of hope.


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