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Poem	Fly, white butterflies, out to sea, Frail pale wings for the winds to try, Small white wings that we scarce can see Fly. Here and there may a chance-caught eye Note in a score of you twain or three Brighter or darker of tinge or dye. Some fly light as a laugh of glee, Some fly soft as a low long sigh: All to the haven where each would be Fly.
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