And we sang

The roses and buttercups

sang to me.

And I to them.

We sang of the

joyful rains and

the sad sunshine.

Of the springs

and the falls.

We sang of the lilting

waves and sighing moon.

Of soft lambs a-prancing

and breezes a-dancing

And, as the sun hung low,

we whispered our farewells

and tip-toed off, to not

disturb the velvet night.

For we knew we would

sing again.

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