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There is a Thorn⁠—it looks so old,

In truth, you’d find it hard to say

How it could ever have been young⁠—

It looks so old and gray.

Not higher than a two years’ child

It stands erect, this aged Thorn;

No leaves it has, no thorny points;

It is a mass of knotted joints,

A wretched thing forlorn.

It stands erect, and like a stone

With lichens it is overgrown.