Page 5 - Theft on the Apennines
P. 5
On a rocky mountain face
grows the Primrose, full of grace.
"Noble Lord, my thanks accept,
for some days I have not slept.
Do you understand? I’m in great despair:
my pollen is stolen, this is so unfair!
It used to shine like a golden crown."
The Primrose sobs with a worried frown.
"Come on now, don’t scrunch your leaves.
Have you seen the suspected thieves?"
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