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I sing -
of all things;
from bare winter to spring,
I sing of your sky and your lands,
I sing of your snow and the iciest cold,
I sing of your oceans and sands.

When the sun slants its whim
Over indolent limbs,
I sing of your harvest and hearth
When your tiniest babe
sallies forth from its cage,
I sing of your joy and its worth.

When you set off to feud
in a faraway place,
I sing dazzling tales of your glory.
When you trudge, bloodied, home,
I will sing you comfort
and
wrap you in tailor-made stories.