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A hard frost
Footprints in the garden
Six geese sail before
A silver moon
Over the arc
Of a clear blue sky
Towards the bright vermillion sun
That breaks the broad horizon
With a smile
The geese, now golden
Call with wild abandon
Trumpeting in this glorious day
And I could see for ever.
The moon now bluer
Sinks towards the rocking stone
At Sleepy Lowe.

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