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Misty Morning

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When I look out my window
Through the colored honeysuckle
Through the misty morning
Hear the late frog croaking
And the distance thunder
Here, the muted rumble
Echoes in the garden
The Elven queens are dancing
All in the glades their dancing
Swaying like the willows
Draped in bows like willows
Lullaby of sadness
Crying of the heron
Creeping of the panther
Swaying of the elves’ queen
Louder lamentation
Pounding on the threshold
The distant thunder closer
The whinnying of the horses
The wind is shrieking over
Trees they creep and tremble
The rain in frightful torrents
The Elven queens are twirling
As a hurricane but faster
And their very feet are blasting
All the dirt from the moss
And the spinning and the swirling
The tiptoeing and whirling
The waving and the tracing
And the bliss on all their faces
Makes the rain,
Pounding rain, go away
And the fresh flowers grow
And the grass fresh as snow
With a whispering sound
Covers up the
Footsteps
Of the
Elves.



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