Under a grove of ancients
I find my truest peace
Their shelter vibrant with life
All the worries of the world begin to cease
Closing my eyes I begin to cry
I look round about, from the ground to the sky
In humility I ask, please can I stay
With a rustle of leaves they reply
Thy soul and countenance is kindly pure
And thy heart is good and not likely to sway
But without the challenges of strife
None of this is worth your stay
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