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The Windmill

The Windmill
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This is the way
That the windmill goes round:
High, then low;
High, then low;
Brushing the sky
And the air and the ground,
High, then low;
High, then low.

Arms spreading wide
In the soft summer breeze:
Round they go;
Round they go;
Fanning the fields
And the flowers and trees,
Round they go;
Round they go.

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