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Smokey Mountain Air
By Joe Pivetti
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There's
a wanton wind weaving through the willows, Soughing like the brokenhearted. Sounding like the beau who came so gamely from the hollows, Who whispered how he'd aimed at love, And missed...and prayed for comfort from above. Then, when release was wanting, he departed... Back into the lingering mist and weeping stands of sorrow. |