Full of reflections,the shallowest brookcannot be fathomed.
How can that depth be
fathomed where a man may see
himself reflected?
If I could so live
when small fruits are ripe my fruits
might be ripe also.
The high blackberriesthe richest berry we haveare now in their prime.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2015
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality."

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