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The weight of the sky
Rests on the shoulders
Of the gloomy grey hill
The rain falls heavy
On the Magpies chatter.
Athena, my friend,
Sits on the ledge
Of her dripping wall
Sighing,
Oh, what will I do?
Up in the mist
On the high high hill
The wind blows gently
Through the silver gate
And then,
From deep in the heart
Of an old stone wall
there is music sounding,
Three soft tones

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