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On the other side of the poem there is an orchard,
and in the orchard, a house with a roof of straw,
and three pine trees,
three watchmen who never speak, standing guard.
On the other side of the…
Child of a lonely traveller
in a strange country
I live towards my doom
closed in a small tight room.
Closed in a small tight room
where whitehaired quiet ladies
claw the walls conspire in lies
and…