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Miss Flotsam was my reception teacher.She had travelled the world.Brown hair turned goldenunder distant suns,clothes carrying coloursfrom countless corners of continents.
I was born with a map of Australia on my face;it was beautiful, my mother told me – there was nobody like me in the whole wide worldwho could trace the edges of down under
The night was as dark as an ink well,For the moon had gone visiting elsewhere,But by the scuffling sounds around me,I knew there was someone there.
I spied a small lonely boy.I was his beautiful red balloon,from morning through to noon,