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XIV
Where Go the Boats?
Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the
sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on
either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating--
Where will all
come home?
On goes the river
And out past the
mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the
hill.
Away down the river,
A hundred miles
or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my
boats ashore.
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