Are you not much better than they
The fowls of the air and the beast of the field
Does God not care for them each day?
Yes, and also the lilies of the field. ...
Browning, old fellow,
Your leaves grow yellow,
Beginning to mellow
As seasons pass.
Your cover is wrinkled,
And stained and sprinkled,
And warped and crinkled
From sleep on the grass.
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