There is a place,
just over Subtle Hill
Down through the valley,
of Passing Way
Shall we find the beach,
of Sleeping Willow Sea?
Where the palms are grown,
in grandular Splendor
Just as softening pines,
in feathery Hinder
To the edge of the forest,
in loving green
And so to the moisture that falls,
the growth to lend her
©Thomas W. Foreman
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