| The white ducks fly on past the sun,
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| Their wings flash silver at the moon.
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| While waters rush down the mountain tongue
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| My organs play a circus tune.
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| I dance to the wonder of your feet
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| And sing to the joy of your knees.
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| The cold white dress on the mountain breast
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| Paints the frozen trees.
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| The maple plants patterns in the sky
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| Its leaves to kiss the wind
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| While scores of glittering bugs and flies
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| Dance polkas on her limbs.
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| I whistle symphonies of your face
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| And laugh for your hair so fine.
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| In startled greens of playground grass
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| A child jumps rope to rhyme.
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| Reeds and brass, the marching drums
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| Make a joyous sound
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| Trees bend low with nuts and plums
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| Then fall to find the ground.
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| I hunger for your porpoise mouth
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| And stand erect for love.
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| The sun burns up the winter sky
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| And all the earth is love. |