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Death comes on every passing breeze,
He lurks in every flower;
Each season has its own disease,
Its peril -- every hour.
--Reginald Heber
Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,
There my pretty lady is, River-woman's daughter,
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.
Old Tom Bom
🚕 -- 📘 -- 🌋 -- 🥗 -- 🎁 -- 💛 -- 🍖 -- 💚 -- 🍧 -- 🥞 -- 🐊 -- 🐟 -- 💗 -- 👑 -- 🐛
:)
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