Hooray for the forks and the spoons
That feed the frogs in great scoops
That lift the ground in crescent moons
Which sprinkle on spelling croups.
There is dew in the vestiges
Wherever the evening’s been,
And weeds and plants for sandwiches
Between hoof and earth of glen.
The horses graze so deep to survive
in grass that swallow their toes alive.
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