The Second Time

Cogua lies so high in the mountains
One marvels at the amplitude of green.
Near the mountain tops fog forests grow.
There you have a moist, earthy cool;
Every night is cold; and yet the sun at
Noon cheers nicely. The flowers wave,
The cattle ruminate, the green steep upland
Meadows bask. Trees with small leaves,
Each attending to the wind, receive their life,
Nourish on their bark the lichen, growing
Together in a way that makes it all add up.

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