They open their wings, flash patterns and color, fly from flower toflower. I, with the dark brittles and many feet of the former form, inchalong the ground.Sometimes all I want is two armfuls of air, a fistful of sky.
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They open their wings, flash patterns and color, fly from flower toflower. I, with the dark brittles and many feet of the former form, inchalong the ground.Sometimes all I want is two armfuls of air, a fistful of sky.
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