Far far from here I'm longing for a place,
Coveting to get it by god's grace,
Having the new aura being muffled,
The beauty residing will make me baffled! ...
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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