Sylvie's DiarySylvie's Diary
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On a quiet morning in early spring, the returning birds softly sing, spiders’ webs with dewdrops gleam, finely spun in iridescent sheen the land awakens from its dreams

A gentle chill hangs in the air, a bit of winter still lingers near The daffodils bright among the green where the dewy grasses give way to trees thawing from the winter freeze

In the meadow, early blossoms bloom the morning’s sun will reach them soon most in shadow from the trees nearby petals unfurl to catch the light through the mist above them from the night

Golden rays of dawn brush the meadow’s edge; grasses shine near heather hedge a stone protruding from the ground, everywhere nature’s spirit surrounds, the fabric of hope is all around