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I walked slowly up to the little shack on the shore. The wind blew through my hair while I sang a song. It went like this, " The more I try, the braver I come, and I will have a fearless triumph' but in a sweet melody. I was almost there, but although I sang my song of comfort, I still dreaded what would happen next.
by Jill, age 11, from Singapore
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Tate Tales
