| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - coming back.I spied a willy wagtail warbling with glee, As he flitted from a fence post and then to a tree, And a little grey wren sat on that same fence, Before flying off into bush that was thick and dense.The property of a farmer was a sight to behold, Of grey-brown dry stubble with touches of gold.Amazing electric fences were strung either side, One wonders in this desolation what they had to
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