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The Mountain
April 7, 2008
He waits for me with open arms, his sun still low.
I mount his lucious, pure, white snow.
He greets me with a smile-a-glow.
As I soar through his winds he is delighted with joy.
He is reminded of his days as a little boy.
When after a while, the activities you do.
He suddenly says goodnight to you.
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