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Emily Dickinson - We like march, his shoes are purple,Emily Dickinson - We like march, his shoes are purple,
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We like March, his shoes are purple,   He is new and high; Makes he mud for dog and peddler,   Makes he forest dry; Knows the adder`s tongue his coming,   And begets her spot. Stands the sun so close and mighty   That our minds are hot. News is he of all the others;   Bold it were to die With the blue-birds buccaneering   On his British sky.
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