Isn’t it a of mark great honour,
To have fought and protected our lands,
From the tempest that threatened to ravage,
To have redeemed with our very own hands?
And wouldn’t you call it heroic,
To have salvaged our precious young shoots,
Giving our lives to prevent them
From being torn out at the roots?
Does it give you a sense of wonder,
To have mastered the savagest storm,
To have transformed its blusters and gusts
Into a breeze, both cooling and warm?
Are you able to see the beauty,
In this, the shadiest of bowers,
Laying fallow the finest of fields,
For an arbor bursting with flowers?
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