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09/27/18 at 11:15PM
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Poetry
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See more by MFish
When the grand Firs, shake and tremble,
From the blowing wind and they resemble,
Tall dark shapes, of trees, that assemble,
To make the noise, we fear at night
And make our sleep, full of fright.
Why must the wind, on this day,
Try so hard, to blow us away?
