of an old Blue Spruce
may become a santuary.
Voices are heard
but words are not.
Sounds like a deep
and distant drum
soothe quietly
in this cool
and airy blind.
One cannot live in
the space beneath
the boughs.
may become a santuary.
Voices are heard
but words are not.
Sounds like a deep
and distant drum
soothe quietly
in this cool
and airy blind.
One cannot live in
the space beneath
the boughs.
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