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Little Thunderbird I see your face. Little Thunderbird Ready to race. Your suit is creased And your shoes are worn Still you cut the waves For which you were born. * Made fast to the dock You patiently stand Awaiting a skipper To take your hand. Your regular dance The summer through Wednesdays and Fridays Sometimes Saturdays too. Whatever tempo The band will blow You take a deep breath And go on… Read More
sailingwithjosh
Sailing With Josh 