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February.

 


Up on that hill, they talk in their suits as the trees stay fast asleep.

The pulse of the day is stuck on replay.

Still walking around covered and cautious

Still holding back smiles because no one will see.

Winters breathe keeps pushing us forward,

While Springs voice sits silent and distant.

 

Up on that hill, they talk in their suits as the trees stay fast asleep.

What will the clouds bring?

What will the birds sing?

After the day has finished standing in the cold.

Night. We shall wrap her up tight, in a blanket weaved of warmth.

 

In the light, the sun will shine.

Shine up on that hill,

Where they will talk, in their suits as the trees stay fast asleep.

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