| Kind o’er the kinderbank leans my Myfanwy,
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| White o’er the playpen the sheen of her dress,
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| Fresh from the bathroom and soft in the nursery
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| Soap scented fingers I long to caress.
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| Were you a prefect and head of your dormit’ry?
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| Were you a hockey girl, tennis or gym?
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| Who was your favourite? |
| Who had a crush on you?
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| Which were the baths where they taught you to swim?
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| Smooth down the Avenue glitters the bicycle,
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| Black-stockinged legs under navy blue serge,
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| Home and Colonial, Star, International,
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| Balancing bicycle leant on the verge.
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| Trace me your wheel-tracks, you fortunate bicycle,
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| Out of the shopping and into the dark,
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| Back down the avenue, back to the pottingshed,
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| Back to the house on the fringe of the park.
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| Golden the light on the locks of Myfanwy,
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| Golden the light on the book on her knee,
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| Finger marked pages of Rackham’s Hans Anderson,
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| Time for the children to come down to tea.
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| Oh! |
| Fullers angel-cake, Robertson’s marmalade,
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| Liberty lampshade, come shine on us all,
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| My! |
| what a spread for the friends of Myfanwy,
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| Some in the alcove and some in the hall.
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| Then what sardines in half-lighted passages!
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| Locking of fingers in long hide-and-seek.
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| You will protect me, my silken Myfanwy,
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| Ring leader, tom-boy, and chum to the weak. |