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■ The oak
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A fantasy
Miracles are more in my dream on a spring day, Through the clouds ladder up in heaven I stay, For I have reached the Milky Way, With the moon and stars I would play. I see the earthlings as I look down. Floundering on my old treacherous way, In the foul weather that has no firm say. Only the traveler is happy and gay, For the dawn gives another bright day!
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