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What is it that you must give before you can keep it
A cloud was my mother, the wind is my father, my son is the cool stream, and my daughter is the fruit of the land. A rainbow is my bed, the earth my final resting place, and I'm the torment of man.
A young man wants to have it, but when he has it he no longer wants it. Blade in hand he attacks it And does his best to remove it. Yet he knows that it is all in vain.
It carries paper of the most important sort but also plastic, I'm glad to report. What is it?
I’m round and bounce on the ground
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