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Stories by John D. Sheridan

Last thing at night,
Before we go to bed,
Mum tells stories
out of her head.
We all sit quiet,
We don’t make a sound –
Some on chairs
And some on the ground;
Keeping very still
And with no wish to play,
For this is the happiest
Hour of the day;
When we gather round the fire,
Before we go to bed,
And Mum tells stories
Out of her head.

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