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Birds | ||
| Birds are flitting to and fro. Where they're bound I do not know! Feathered wings in graceful flight, Having rested well last night. Chirping happily they go, Soaring high and then below. If an insect has appeal They can grab it for a meal. Do they dream of times gone by, When they'd only learned to fly? Or perhaps they look ahead! What will happen when they're dead. | ||
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