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rocked in the cradle of the deep
into the silent land
noises that strive to tear
this ancient silver bowl of mine
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
i've won the race
our pleasant moments fly
beautiful
burly, dozing humble-bee
a very remarkable history this is
there were three in the meadow by the brook
backward, turn backward
as a white candle
gone before us

 



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