Mrs. Johnson's Kindergarten Class!
White sheep, white sheep on a blue hill.
When the wind stops, you all stand still
When the wind blows, you walk away slow.
White sheep, white sheep, where do you go?
(This is a riddle. What are the sheep really?)
I often sit and wish that I could be a kite up in the sky.
And ride upon the breeze and go, whichever way I chanced to blow.
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