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A sample poem from Earthcraft, p. 4:

The Lay of the Land

For this curved world's unlevel playing field
thank lucky 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 summer shades
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.