I TELL them where the wind comes from,
Where the music goes when the fiddle is in the box.

Kids—I saw one with a proud chin, a sleepyhead,
And the moonline creeping white on her pillow.
I have seen their heads in the starlight
And their proud chins marching in a mist of stars.

They are the only people I never lie to.
I give them honest answers,
Answers shrewd as the circles of white on brown chestnuts.

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