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Caterpillar | ||
| Fuzzy finger brown and black, Crawling slowly on your track, Do you like the frosty air? Must you a cocoon prepare? You were having so much fun, But the tasty leaves are done. Now it's time to stop and spin Your new home to winter in. Metamorphosized you'll fly To delight the passersby. Life continues without end. On that truth we can depend. | ||
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