I dare you to listen to a mockingbird.
Sitting on a wire.
On an April morning.
Its head tilted slightly toward the sky.
Making that washing machine song.
Then the tweet, tweet, tweet.
Then the cahchoo-cachoo-cahchoo.
Then the washing machine song, again.
And find that boring.
I’d like you to stare.
At the wagging tail.
Of a little black and white puppy.
As it sweep…
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