In the song of snowflakes,
They chorus of my footprints,
The winds visible,
Talks of ignored hints.

Peaks and pines,
Leopards and birds,
Toast wines,
And my snores they tell long ago heard.

Frozen lakes and turbulant rivers,
Tells my skin was never so rough,
The caves dressed in painting of beavers,
Smile at me and cough.



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