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Half in slumber I see the ash trees of the glen
They make no sound as I lie here
Half in vain
Afghan on the feet and their sweet visual lullaby
O maudlin do I feel to be so far from them
I leave the leaves to their parade and
Wish that I could see more than the
Direful white brick wall encircling me
Lackluster fire-fly brought to this despair
Very not fair
A vignette you makes its entrance
You're like a wren elating me, how could that be?

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