There she lay in her
Crisp white dress
Upon her flowing
Golden tress
Like a snowflake
Kissed to glittering
By a new-born ray.
Her lips harmonize
An impish smile
Quite like herself;
Her eyes are weaving
A thousand dreams
But behind the screen
The mole remains unseen
Marsha Snowe is fast asleep
May no angel
Envy her ease.
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