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A Traveler’s Poem

The days do grow short.

The nights do grow long.

The dragon now sleeps;

And I walk away,

Free, to the south

Where the cold sea

Grinds ice against the rocks.

If I find you there,

I’ll not be surprised.

I dreamed of your face, 

Thanks to our dear friend.

He never has lied,

Except to himself.

Lets talk before the end.

— found inscribed upon the last Great Tree along the road south, a common graffiti spot for travelers.   

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