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by Mary Baldwin

The wind blows high, the wind blows low,
The buried prairies in the snow
Lie warm and deep.
Safe under Winter's soft white wing
A little seedling dreams of spring,
Stirs in its sleep.

The wind has gone, and softly come
Small furry friends from drifted home,
Hungry — a fright —
The marks of tiny footsteps show,
Like frozen music-notes, on snow
All silent, white.

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