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Gulls | ||
| Whistling gulls with wings of white Circle 'round to greet the morn. Singing of a world so bright They can battle any scorn. Hark, they bid us start anew, Throwing off the cares of yore, So that all we say and do Is more fitting than before. Soaring skyward they exclaim, "Watch us in our happy flight." "Things may never be the same," Say those gulls with wings of white. | ||
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