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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.'
In our flatfaces speakof places across the sea.
In our flatvoices walk intalking, but not like me.
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
Hello! thanks for callingI'm just off on my bikeThat's my room up thereTake a look if you like.
Aren’t you cold and won’t you freeze,With branches bare, you winter trees?You’ve thrown away your summer shift,Your autumn gold has come adrift.