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Meadowette
Whilst in the meadow I did lie
a whisp of snipe flew idly by
fine feathers tumbled to my brow
softer than a summer's cloud.
Now days grow short and grasses wither
I'm mindful what the sky delivered
and keep them in my pocket still
to ward away cruel winter's chill.
Warm in the meadow I did lie
a whisp of snipe flew idly by.
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