Page 29 - index
P. 29
Through the days of Winter Solstice,
the child in my heart was born
Before the snow came,
distant hills were purple brown.
Grass was still an emerald green,
mist had settled in the trees.
Branches of an earthen color
rested without leaves.
Water shimmered and light reflected.
In the forest, the song was calling,
sounding like singing in the pines.
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