SWAYING TREE TOPS 



the flies from their sides. And the 

 country road lies straight away, 

 washed clean of dust by last night's 

 rain. 



Or again, it is Sabbath morning, 

 and the country by the lake lies rest- 

 ing from the toil of the weekday. 

 The water is as calm as the face of 

 patience. No wind is stirring, no 

 ripples even lap against the sand. 

 The path runs down to the beach, 

 then climbs the hill and wanders 

 across the pasture to the highway, 

 over the bridge by the willows, and 

 then across the boggy place to find 

 the shore again. The sun hangs half 

 way up the eastern sky. The only 

 shadows are those cast by the trees 

 upon the margin of the lake. No 

 clouds anywhere, but blue sky over 



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