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Returning to the place of my birth,
I see the
brown rolling hills
floating like flotsam.
Lonely Eucalyptus trees
standing sentinel
dot the landscape.
I feel parched.
My head aches from squinting
In the hot sun.
What once was home
no longer holds me,
And I return to where the greens
are multitudinous - their own kind of rainbow,
where our valley is bookended by
the grandeur of mountains and still taller mountains.
My thirst no longer drives me to find a source,
For I look around, and I am home.

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