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
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
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