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A sample poem from Earthcraft, p. 4:
The Lay of the Land
For this curved world's unlevel playing field
stars that helped to get it built,
but most the nearest one,
'round which it's wheeled
long at a certain season-making tilt.
Who couldn't love spring's buttermilk cascades
that spill from
Peakamoose's sloping shoulders,
cool swimming holes downstream in
where turtleheads and mosses bloom on boulders?
Who doesn't stare when autumn's hands set fire
to leaves grown
up and down the Shongums' spine,
when downy snow on each tree's
crown or spire
is diamond-strewn in slanting, low sunshine-
or glows like pearls in moonlight and star spangles?
I'm glad to
make the most of all these angles.