The Finns
S
Sheena Blackhall
0
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The Finns go walking by like pines
Tall and stately, dark as woods
They turn their heads like snowy owls
Large eyes of blue in spectral hoods
Their talk is spare, like sound of waves
You feel a fjord has just passed through
Mothered by begs, green glassy deeps
Where stars are sharp and folk are few
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