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The Whispering Pines
The whispering pines
On the ridge of the hill
Relate what they see
So they never are still.
The whispering pines,
Their tops brushing the skies,
Welcome the brisk winds
With no need of disguise.
Those whispering pines,
Synchronized with the breeze,
Seem always to share
Anything that they please.
Oh whispering pines
Won't you whisper to me
That my lover comes
And that now he is free?
