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Pine Forest

 Let us go now into the forest.
Trees will pass by your face, and I will stop and offer you to them, but they cannot bend down.
The night watches over its creatures, except for the pine trees that never change: the old wounded springs that spring blessed gum, eternal afternoons.
If they could, the trees would lift you and carry you from valley to valley, and you would pass from arm to arm, a child running from father to father.

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