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Only the echoes
Of the mountains remain
As my legs take the strain
Of the heathery hills
The thistles are old now
Grey beards and tired
But finches adorn
Their feathery tops
With tinkling chat
And glitter
Golden gorse
And autumn daisies
light the ditch
And owls on tops of mossy walls
Watch with amber eagle-eyes
And seize their day
with happy calls

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