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'Why do you run?' I asked the river,'So fast I can't compete.''I run,' the river said, 'becauseI have some streams to meet.'
Spring is baby,bright, fresh and new,gurgling with the melting snow,singing with the first cuckoo.
Thomas Farynor, Baker to the King,Left his oven burning with the firewood nearby.The embers muttered, the little flames took wing