Non Injussa Cano*
I sing of a sunset to come,
Of a rain to wash the land.
Sing of hoarfrost and snow fun,
And a song of dry desert sand.
The sharp chime of berries or sage,
rings with the strong tones of the young,
corded by the dark tones of age.
I sing of a sunset to come.
*H.D.Thoreau, Wild Fruits, page 270
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