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- THE birches that dance on the top of the hill
- Are so slender and young that they cannot keep still,
- They bend and they nod at each whiff of a breeze,
- For you see they are still just the children of trees.
- But the birches below in the valley are older,
- They are calmer and straighter and taller and colder.
- Perhaps when we've grown up as solemn and grave,
- We, too, will have children who do not behave!
- John Chipman Farrar
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