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A poem by Mary Naylor.

 Daddy was driving our old Chevy,
 Filled with children, mama, and a tent - it was heavy!
 The year was 1937, and I was about four.
 We were going camping in mountains filled with lore.

 Up the mountains we chugged, all we could see was pines,
 Green, majestic trunks, an immense forest divine!
 I suddenly felt the forest was reaching out to me.
 Young as I was, I knew God had touched me through a tree!

 Always since then, I've loved the pines.
 In Wisconsin, I could feel them in the dark, a sign
 Of infinitude, majesty, mystery, vastness.
 I know now, through them, I experienced eternity, no less. 

Mary Naylor, Oct. 8, 2007 (c)

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