| Sing a call to a morning dove
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| Over the prairie, through the hills
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| I hear it still in the singing of the bread
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| From your lips which splashed my dull house
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| With music
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| I went out walking in the wood
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| By a river which never sleeps
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| All I bare, all I sieve
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| I thought of you so presently
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| I dreamt of the warmest days of love
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| Which knew not sorrow nor betrayal
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| When truth was will in the singing of the gale
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| But when I lay in a verdant field
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| None could stay my rising
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| I went out walking in the wood
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| And the light casts long from the moon
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| And life is short as a breath half-taken
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| I could not wait to tell you the truth
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| I have been waiting on you |