My Song

The wind blows north,
The wind blows south,
The wind blows east and west;
But what blows forth
From my own mouth
Is wind that is the best.

There’s birds to left,
There’s birds to right,
They’re singing sweet and fine;
But their fair gift
Of cheering might
Is half as fair as mine.

They sing their half,
I sing my whole,
Together we are true;
And none would laugh
To know my soul
Is this wide world of you.

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