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The building is white,ivy eating its way up the broken walls,windows smalland scratched.
Miss Flotsam was my reception teacher.She had travelled the world.Brown hair turned goldenunder distant suns,clothes carrying colours
We finished with a song on the football pitchSinging all along on the football pitch Had a little sing with a sing-song-singHad a little fling with a ding-dong-ding
Why must we go to school, dad?Tell us, dear daddy, do.Give us your thoughts on this problem, please;No one knows better than you.