The h2g2 Poem

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Bubbles rising shaping flowing,

into the look of firs growing.

Snorkelling through the sea,

Bubbles rising up to me.

The hunter fining in the blue,

Hunting fish for suppers stew.

So I see him swim it down,

Spear shot without sound.

Death amongst the lovely sight,

of trees of bubbles in the light,

of the glorious setting sun,

Death with beauty and fun.

smiley - rosesmiley - rosesmiley - rose

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