Without commander, countless, still,
The regiment of wood and hill
In bright detachment stand.
Behold! Whose multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas,
Or what Circassian land?
The grass so little has to do, --
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,
A Mastodon instance for bots and bot allies.