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Krone

A land like this, a place called home,

Burns like wood, made of stone.

A path worn out, the same sunny day,

Dreamy bridges giving away.

Singing birds, humming bees,

Forest berries not so sweet.

Fresh cut grass, chirping crickets,

Sheep they peep through the thickets.

Ding dong, clangity clang, stomp thump , bang bang,

Footsteps? warnings? a friendly trace?

It’s home now, this  once strange place.

 

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