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The Shadow
The Shadow danced as the constant wind blew.
The gnarled old tree bent as it grew.
The grasses; they bow in sorrow
as the winds moan through the hollow.
The Shadow swings softly though the sun doesn't shine.
It will be there, I'm sure 'til the end of time.
The swinging Shadow you see there is mine.
It is where I was hung in 1809.
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