Morning pride

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Snow dews are hanging,
At the tip of every leaves,

Morning breeze of the spring,
Swaying from all directions,

As she enters to wake me up,
Her fingers feel the iced sticks,

She plays my spinal cord,
Like an old Egyptian harp,

As I enter in her soul,
Getting closer she can,

It’s not just making out,
The pride of the morning, but
We write new anthem of love.