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1677

On my volcano grows the Grass
A meditative spot—
An acre for a Bird to choose
Would be the General thought—

How red the Fire rocks below—
How insecure the sod
Did I disclose
Would populate with awe my solitude.

Edited by Peter Carter

Added: 2 Apr 2003 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:26 PM | Viewed: 8196 times

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