Rabbit, Soldier, Angel, Thief - by Katrina Nannestad

When they have had enough fun, they fall into line, holding our vegetables and our geese, and march away. Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! And as they go, they trample Mama’s flowers beneath their big black boots. The chamomile, the yarrow and the blue, blue cornflowers I picked from the meadow all turn to mush.

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