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And suddenly there is spring ,
So you tell me :
But how can I believe ,
When the winter is
Unthawed
And the tall trees
Are still dark
With the shadow of
This recurring death ;
The song of Cuckoo
Is no more real
Then the long lost memories
Of some yesteryears .
And this is our Shangrila ,
So you tell me ;
How too soon to believe ,
When the wind is still warm
Though the journey thru
The desert
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