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I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
— Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Maybe in the morning, sunlight would to turn him back into a statue; then I could take Stone out to the forest where he could frolic among the ferns, gurgle at streams, and make friends with the other interesting rocks.
— Devon Monk
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