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A Farm Walk

Rating: 2.7

The year stood at its equinox
And bluff the North was blowing,
A bleat of lambs came from the flocks,
Green hardy things were growing;
I met a maid with shining locks
Where milky kine were lowing.

She wore a kerchief on her neck,
Her bare arm showed its dimple,
Her apron spread without a speck,

Her air was frank and simple.
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7/31/2021 1:10:57 AM # 1.0.0.666