Today I have grown taller from walking with the trees.
I love the friendly faces of old sorrows;
I have no secrets that they do not know.
Some days my thoughts are just cocoons -- all cold, and dull, and blind, They hang from dripping branches in the grey woods of my mind; And other days they drift and shine -- such free and flying things! I find the gold-dust in my hair, left by their brushing wings.
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