The ancient meadow floor. Startled, the frozen sagebrush, Shake off the silvery frosts That coat their coarse, hardy limbs. Nearby, A bashful vapor of Rosy clouds, hover at the foot of the towering Teton, whose glaciers glitter like mirrors Retreating from night shift Ever so reluctantly to the riverbank As Aspen quaver in breeze, its little round smiling faces, Shower kisses to the morning Of yellow and orange hue. A world of my heavenly Father!
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