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The Forest Pool
Golden scent
Of roasting pine needles
Of red hot pinecones
Of sun silent torrent
As the easing of a violin
Or the slipping water to a fall
The weary-smoothed boulders, dying all
The air around in rainbow shimmer sheen
With a lonely man
Rested against tree a-slumber
The red earthy timber
Writing mind-sight before it wean and wane
