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Woodland Stream

I bound over a stream by day,
Feeling ever so gay,
For I am alone, away from paths,
Where the plants grow free
While the birds sing with glee.

Oh, how the moss yields!
Unlike man's plowed fields.
The stream winds untamed,
Forming small mires wth its silt
Away from man's kilt.

Yet, this land is touched by man,
For I see an occasional can,
And as I approach, the animals hide,
Fearing some great wrath
That might be in my path.

Though I leave them be,
They still fear me.
'Til I stay still for an hour,
Laying between several rocks,
When, what crosses my view? A fox!

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