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(August 12, 1901 - July 13, 1987 / Pennsylvania / United States)

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Poem By Robert Francis

This little house sows the degrees
By which wood can return to trees.

Weather has stained the shingles dark
And indistinguishable from bark.

Lichen that long ago adjourned
Its lodging here has now returned.

And if you look in through the door
You see a sapling through the floor.

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The great boon of regeneration to flora and fauna marvelously revealed.


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