The Real Mother Goose

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WHEN THE SNOW IS ON THE GROUND

The little robin grieves
  When the snow is on the ground,
For the trees have no leaves,
  And no berries can be found.

The air is cold, the worms are hid;
  For robin here what can be done?
Let’s strow around some crumbs of bread,
  And then he’ll live till snow is gone.

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