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Fires | ||
| Fires are sometimes hard to start With their warmth they will not part. When you think it's burning well It may stop to rest a spell. It will burn when it's a mind, Ready to its warmth unwind. It will follow its own drum, Not when you may bid it come. It chooses well its time to shine, Ready to give up its spine. When it's finished in its place Lovely ashes are its trace. | ||
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