The Highway
(Indisponível)
The highway is laid as smooth as glass
For miles and miles and the cars can pass.
But the ant and the bee and the bush and the tree
Whose home it was are now exiles.
And the cars rush by for miles and miles,
To find a place where they can see
A plant and a bush and a blade of grass,
And an ant and a bumblebee.
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