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When a petal was a rouse
weighted a ruffed grouse
only this accusation
arose their superstition
today my summation grew
with rust nestled wing
that alighted by a house
as wood in a broom
let in the ravine
a newness in Celtic
and at their word again
upon this knoll in
soon grazed on brome
ignited their noble cavil.

— The End —