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Five little white heads peeped out of the mould,

When the dew was damp and the night was cold;

And they crowded their way through the soil with pride;

"Hurrah! We are going to be mushrooms!" they cried.

But the sun came up, and the sun shone down,

And the little white heads were withered and brown;

Long were their faces, their pride had a fall--

They were nothing but toadstools, after all.

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