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Trees

The birds needed a home
To rest their wings,
As they fled from frost
Each winter.

And the giants,
Who then roamed the earth,
Wooden hearts sank
For the creatures,
Who been through too much,
and they buried themselves,
For the love of small things.

Today we still see the giants,
As birds rest in their warm hands.
And they let us build our houses,
And draw and sing.
Even if they have to die,
It’s for the love of small things.



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