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Icy waters
March 2001
Sometimes I am snow flakes falling on your hand,
Soft, light and fresh.
Some other times I am a glimpse of a landscape
Covered with pure white: hills, woods and streams
Bright and sparkling in the early morning sun.
And in some other places I am a glacier, big and old,
Slowly carrying huge rocks from the mountain top
Where snow is forever, down into the valley
Where birds sing sweetly.
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