groovedwarepeople
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On golden bough he once sat astride
That leafen face, green dark-eyed
Midwinter sprites once danced in white
Pending return of the warming light
Once the rebirth of all nature’s gifts
Of Earth born and all shall return
We age till of the urn we yearn
Of Air we need and of that we plead
Knowing that soon of pain be freed
Of Fire aroused ire, soon all shall tire
