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Picked over—

Agriculture, decompose
To the soil, let it grow
And in the setting sun
Hold, ad infinitum

Gentle traveler, green as rose
Day to follow, when you know
As your time will come
Go, know not what you've done

If I knew the shape of my face
Before I was born I would not be afraid to die

In a forest, with insects eating my body
I would not be afraid of that

I will bury another in the morning light
Touching, if I cover I can set it

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