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Haleakala | ||
| Frothy clouds in cinder cone Wrap us so we feel alone, Drenching us with gentle mist! By the clouds we have been kissed. Though the sun has hid its face We get sunburned in this place. Silence reigns upon the trail. There's no song of dove or quail. Cinders crunch beneath the feet. We are far from city street. As we climb our breath is short, But we are a hardy sort. | ||
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