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The arms of the wooden giant, Spins in the kisses of the breeze, Hypnotizing the sleeping valley, Caressing my soul, I breathe. I want to soar above this valley, And tickle each bud awake, Laughing when the sun blushes, As I somersault down his face. Don’t you love it when flowers open, And babies take their first steps? Don’t you love it when winters end, And ice turns to mud, what a mess! If I had my way, valleys would never die, Everything would remain green, If I had my way, trees would never cry, Song birds would always sing. Spring, Spring, Oh Spring, Breathe…

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

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