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I know where Wells growDroughtless Wells
Deep dugfor Summer days
Where Mosses go no more away
And Pebblesafely plays
It's made of Fathomsand a Belt
A Belt of jagged Stone
Inlaid with Emeraldhalf way down
And Diamondsjumbled on
It has no BucketWere I rich
A Bucket I would buy
I'm often thirstybut my lips
Are so high upYou see
I read in an Old fashioned Book
That People "thirst no more"
The Wells have Buckets to them there
It must mean thatI'm sure
Shall We remember Parchingthen?
Those Waters sound so grand
I think a little Welllike Mine
Dearer to understand