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ArtistOver on the hill there grows a flower, growing quicker still more perfect than the hour. Deep with in the petals there is a tiny chair, all dressed in gold, the faerie Queen sits there. It’s within her breaths that the crystal raindrops fall, and it is in her years, that she’s within us all. As the willow bows to Her Majesty, all the forest flowers love her mystery. Who does not admire, who does not adore, who does not desire, nor wishes to see more?