There were cats in the kitchen of the spinsters Worrell,
There were frogs in the bucket of Deacon Sudbury’s well,
There by the noon bell in the sun at its high,
Was a purring, and a croaking, and the nightingale’s cry,
Where the thorn plums, and the thistle downs, and the touch-me-nots grew,
There in the thicket did the nightingale spew.
by John Patrick Seekamp, 2014
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