Shadow-Walkers of the Morning Mist
Through emerald hush where sunbeams softly splinter,
A quiet form appears in velvet brown,
The dappled fawn, a living dream of winter,
Whose liquid eyes reflect the woodland town.
They leap with grace that puts the wind to shame,
A gentle soul, a silent, wilder art frame,
With head held high, they claim their rightful fame.
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