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There stands
a yellow tree
like a sun descending upon the earth.
Around it, the grasses laugh,
the hills bend down to listen,
and the wind, that old accomplice,
whispers secrets to the slender branches.
The blue scatters like a handful of dreams,
the green stretches, lazy and tender,
and the light glides, soft as a memory.
It is a morning that begins the world anew,
a suspended moment
where nature paints its joy
without worrying about time.
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