Email Poem

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Poem	Sing a song of sixpence,   A pocket full of rye;Four-and-twenty blackbirds   Baked in a pie!When the pie was opened   The birds began to sing;Was not that a dainty dish   To set before the king?The king was in his counting-house,   Counting out his money;The queen was in the parlor,   Eating bread and honey.The maid was in the garden,   Hanging out the clothes;When down came a blackbird   And snapped off her nose.
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