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I Hear The Meadows Sing

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I hear the meadows sing,
Yet I do not know what they tell me.
I make a headdress out of their token,
And put on the object that I have woven.
I rest my head down on the flowers,
Waiting to have those final hours.
Tired from a long day,
From the trip that took a long way.
The sun dies down,
And the flowers begin tilting,
As the meadows stop singing.




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