Wipe your eyes my son,
Stare, just stare, at moon
When it’s full and bare;
See! you’ll see a hare.
He leaps into a fiery fire,
You see my son that pyre;
It’s a painting by a sire
Dwells in the sky higher.
This hare’s a great giver,
Who didn’t ever, shiver,
To leap into a dazzling fire
And give his life to a crier.
There’s that...
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