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Round as a wheel
shining as a sun
mild and sharp as a weasel
I spread over the dry limestone
and I look at the great sky of Causse
I do not rot under the snow :
my leaves take the grey of winter
nacreous, transparent, rigid
The sheep leaves me
the man rounds me
the child takes my heart to
brush his doll's hair
I don't be as some of my brothers
who hide cruelly in the ear sheaves
In order to keep the friendship from peasant
which allow me hospitality on his lands,
I grow outside his fields
I choose the arid ground where I don't bother.
I have all qualities of an emblem :
  and beautiful
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