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Make a Mark | ||
| Underneath the spreading pine There's a carpet soft and fine. Needles that for long were green, Worthy of a king or queen, Brown and drop upon the ground From the branches all around. They have not their essence lost, Though by wind they now are tossed. Dead they are for me and you, But their scent is never through. May we also make a mark When we leave this earthly park. | ||
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