Luyện nghe bài hát Reading by John Peel (My People...)

Kingsley sat high on a windy knoll, his eyes consuming the silent midnight woods.
He nuzzled his long molish snout inside the heart of a marigold and let his molish
imagination skip to and fro sunken galleons and pirate pictures of rusted doubloons
and deep-water cabins stacked to the with musty muskets and goldfish gauntlets,
once worn by Henry Morgan. The lark awoke and doffed its plumed cornered hat
to its own sleepy-eyed reflection, it hopped past the crested nest of the snoring cuckoo,
and flew off into the Lionel morning looking for friend Mole. Mole was on a marigold
comedown and sulkely scraped bluebeat rythms his ground-digging paw.
"Yes," he whispered, "Me and Li are going aquesting for the Pond of Fox Necks.
Li'll know all the gen[??], so the mole, kneeling on the soft soil, said a morning prayer
to Ra, not even caring if he dirtied his Rupert trousers because his molish mind knew that
was special.