How can you not walk past a tree in awe, enamored by its sheer magnificence? How it allows for us to live, how without it dwelling peacefully in the soil beneath you would be unable to breathe the air in which you so take for granted.
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All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.