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1075

The Sky is low—the Clouds are mean.
A Travelling Flake of Snow
Across a Barn or through a Rut
Debates if it will go—

A Narrow Wind complains all Day
How some one treated him
Nature, like Us is sometimes caught
Without her Diadem.

Edited by Peter Carter

Added: 2 Apr 2003 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:46 PM | Viewed: 10613 times

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