A Poem Cutting Up Taylor's Posts
Could I know
the clay from the loam, the quicksand
from the soil? Maybe no;
that red red soil, that red red
snow, that red red - but it's nice
to know the fireballs this evening,
the red red fireballs furious,
out with a red red pail to eat
the clay, the loam, the soil...
I won't
go out this evening
anymo'.
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