Fiona
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Ye morning-glories, ring in the gale your bells,
And with dew water the walk’s dust for the burden-bearing ants:
Ye swinging spears of the larkspur, open your wells of gold
And pay your honey-tax to the hummingbird …
James Oppenheim
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Time Flies
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Time Flies like an Arrow...
Fruit Flies like Bananas….
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