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History | ||
| Seaborne wind with salty breeze Whips the sand like drifting snow, Covering our tracks with ease So our passage will not show. History may do the same For our actions here on earth. People may not know we came! They may never see our worth. Yet we do what should be done, Not expecting gold or fame. We shall toil till setting sun, So the world won't be the same. | ||
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