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Truce



The wind whips,
Making the branches
Duel and wrestle;
While tiny twigs
Hysterically toss
Like conscientious seconds.

But sudden end
To this wild conflict,
And the calm, proclaim
The death of the goading wind.
Then all the antagonists
Stand stiffly at attention;
But the willow droops
And sighs, who dearly
Loved a fight.

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