This is my imagining of my small city, which was first a large grove of trees, before it was turned into a city with still many beautiful trees. The city is named Pleasant Grove.
In Pleasant Grove I sometimes rove when time is free. The trees I see have such beauty in each season. That’s the reason that I squeeze in time to wander. On hills yonder I can ponder them in spring time. They inspire rhyme, and in their prime, their leaves turn bright. A winter sight - when covered white - they still delight.
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