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Thomas Farynor, Baker to the King,Left his oven burning with the firewood nearby.The embers muttered, the little flames took wing
Behind youWindrush childpalm trees wave goodbye
above youWindrush childseabirds asking why
around youWindrush childblue water rolling by
In the beginning was the wordand the word is ours:
the names of places,the names of flowers,the name of names,words are ours.