I stumble, as I walk, and place my hand on a large White Pine
It has old and kind sap-filled lines
My fingers stick
So I smell and lick
The icing-like sap
Like a pine-flavored sticky bun
Or a glazed donut to begin your day
It’ll be just as sticky as the sap
So you smile and grab another as you
Go to the counter to pay
anthony forrest
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