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Found Poetry 421
where shall we park our love if not in our hearts? if a country is overgrown, will sympathy be in our hands? will our presence be that of practical cement? or ornamented tiles freshly set? life is the coldest theatre of friends everywhere starting barefooted a family connected as trees born rooted so when our play winds to an end we can still spread our warmth undiluted
This poem was created from Walden by Henry Thoreau. Click here to get Walden.
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