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The forecast is fair
But I'm on the edge of a soaking
Grey skies, heavy air
But I feel strong
Powerful
Lit the gold
Of goldenrod and gorse,
And boistrous Swallows
Lead me up
To higher ground
Where the sun shines
Silver through the cloud
A Kestrel pair
Dare dark Ravens
With skillful flight
And wild abandon
And everyone is dancing
Making music
Even the moor
Dressed in purple heather
Is humming.

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