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Softly and warm
A blanket of grey air
Rests in the valley
And gently it sits
on the high hills
damping and moist
Fat raindrops forming
Not falling, but floating
Somehow,
Waiting for me
Cleansing me
Cool to my face
As I race
down the hillside
I'm dazzled by Swallows
In fluttering company
And out on the moorlands
A Raven is singing
Down in the deeps
of his bass.

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