Green, green-- All around me burn the trees. Grass flows and ripples In the wind of Life, Emerald fire that Consumes the earth Utterly But without malice. These plants do not live to die As do unthinking men, Nor do they curl and kiss To vainly increase their kind. No! Purpose in them Is innate, inviolable, Linked forever with the currents Of flame which send them forth. They do, they accomplish, They live to live again Truly immortal, Blazing endlessly as a beacon For mortals to follow If only they would.
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