Its mother was weeping.
of the tree of poetry
that is eternity wearing
the green leaves of time.
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RGB: 70 17 25
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RGB: 109 33 33
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RGB: 186 65 82
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RGB: 200 120 121
Up stairs and doon stairs in his nicht-goun,
Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock,
"Are the weans in their bed? for it's now ten o'clock."
