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Fresh
A low sky
Curtains of rain
Hiding my horizon
Clearing the air
A hunting Kestrel
Hovers high
Lifts me up
Reminds me not to worry
About little clouds
Of noisy pipits
Swallows have a field day
Hawking low above the green
And I can hear the music
Of a hundred wild geese rising
From the ruffled, shining lake.

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