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If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,

You’d sail on water as blue as air,

And you’d see me here in the fields and say:

“Doesn’t the sky look green to-day?”

Where am I going? The high rooks call:

“It’s awful fun to be born at all.”

Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:

“We do have beautiful things to do.”

If you were a bird, and lived on high,

You’d lean on the wind when the wind came by,