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 used by Thomas Rand, whose grandsons drove the cows there and gathered wild rose leaves for distilling. Old residents remember a small, round pond, with an island and solitary pine tree, just beyond Cedar street on the left. John Tufts set out the pine tree, it is said, and the place was a playground for the boys of the neighborhood. As is often the case, at one time they wished to build a fire. The tree was still small, and, with unusual thoughtfulness, they inverted a barrel over it to protect it from the heat. Pond, tree, and island are now things of the past, and looking at the spot, now built over with houses, it is difficult to see where a local poet drew his inspiration for the following poem, one of many dainty productions from the pen of a lifelong resident of Somerville, nearly, Lewis C. Flanagan:—
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