August 22, 2009
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Overlooking, way down below, a hundred mile fall.
A tree sits there, all day long, doing nothing, only singing a song.
It is all alone, with nothing to do, but to wait and fall.
One bird comes, and sits on its branch.
Fall, fall, the little tree goes, soon not to be alone.
Too late for that, for it's crashed and it's dead, after all that overlooking.

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