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then one of the cats quickly turns its face
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Buskins of shells, all silver’d, used she,
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strung from a thought arrived through the keyhole grasping
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The wheeling sky sees all
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With a dog paddling behind me,
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when the French say ruelle
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Does he hum them to while away sad afternoons
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Like a dream that makes you
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As I went walking I saw a sign there
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In the mornings I am greedy for silence. In the afternoons &