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The wind sings mournful
Over the snow-soft moor
Desolate lonely music.
I wait by the gate
To smile at the lapwing
And listen to the merry larks rising
And wonder at the Curlew music everywhere, all at once
Now, the silent-not-silence is sad,
and I wonder about beauty
And how it is lost.
And then you arrived
Just when I needed you most
The white of the fallen snow
Reveals your feathers to be gold
Your soft face glowing, warm
And just for a moment
I believe again

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