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The Rain Song It isn’t raining rain to me, It’s raining daffodils; In every dimpled drop I see Wild flowers on the hill. The clouds of grey engulf the day And overwhelm the town; It isn’t raining rain to me, It’s raining roses down. It isn’t raining rain to me, But fields of clover bloom, Where any a buccaneering bee May find a bed and room. A health unto the happy A fig for him who frets. It isn’t raining rain to me, It’s raining violets. [by Robert Loveman] |
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