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You can find me in a shiny gold stash.

Touch me, and your fingers will feel like ash.

I am ash, from the soot of the fire,

Into the air, I’ll sore, for I’m a flier.

I float on air, you rarely even see.

I’ll fly into your nose, and make you sneeze.

Out from your nose, what will hit the ground?

A bug named for me, you never saw around.

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