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The Cricket Under the table, a cricket trills, Not knowing herself what she wants or wills. Chirrup, chirrup, The cricket cricks till the sun comes up. Nobody knows what she eats, Grandma tells us that she fasts, Grandpa tells us that she snacks, And the cricket says: Chirrup, Chirrup, Chirrup until the sun comes up. Nobody knows where she lives— Grandma tells us: in a hole, Grandpa tells us: in a wall, And the cricket says: Chirrup, Chirrup, Chirrup until the sun comes up. The bright sun rises, goes here and there, Looks for the cricket everywhere, The sun goes under the table, The sun scrapes across the floor, And the little cricket lies, silenced, stilled, And doesn't crick anymore. But when the sun hasfinallygone, The cricket begins again: Chirrup, Chirrup, Chirrup until the sun comes up. 205 ojn easy :t?"p yayi^Ki x f i a i n XT oyivo»nn xi ^sjw x p^xn )ix 206 ...

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