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​The manzanitas of my dream
Surpass their wake-bound kin,
With leaves more green and stems that gleam
In burnt sienna sin.

Their branches, thickly glazed and smooth
Like honey-coated claws,
Show clear a path for snout and tooth
Advancing without pause.

And here no little apples hang
But massive fruit in reach.
Low-lying bounty, mighty fang?
No nightmare this, I preach.
​
--Shortfellow (aka Lord Zakwoof of Glenwoof)