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I’m off the ground
And up so high
Where squirrels climb,
And birdies fly
A tree with eyes,
I sit so still,
All camo-ed up,
A deer to kill.
I scarcely move.
No sound I make,
‘Cept for the leaves
Of Aspen Quake
This tree with eyes,
She sees a deer,
So slyly moves
For window clear
Then makes the shot
With stick and string.
A dead deer down
A glorious thing.
And all because,
On this fine day,
A tree with eyes
Had found the way.
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