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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.
Written by Abracadabra
Published | Edited 24th Jul 2011
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