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Fairies of the North
Cold as ice; bright as fire,
 can you feel my desire
 to touch those little wings?
 Those flitting little things
 that I do so admire.
 
 I constantly aspire,
 so much that I perspire,
 to be like those small beings.
 Cold as ice; bright as fire.
 
 All that they do require,
 so that they won’t expire,
 are little forest springs
 where music always rings
 from mountain, brook, and shire.
 Cold as ice; bright as fire.
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