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poet

Jenny Boully

by this poet

poem

If she lays out two spoons (two real spoons) and two forks (two real forks), will he come then to take part in a meal that is wholly imaginary? The food was never real, the food was never really real and so to send them to bed without, to send them to bed without a meal, hardly

poem

But the rocking chair appears to be missing a little something. If you hang the birdcage there, we'll hear its singing. Keep the curtains sheer drawn over the four poster—that’s the kind of bed I would like to have. I will can the preserves; I will can the preserves so that come autumn, come autumn

poem

The Wendy girl will live longer than you; the Never bird will live longer than you; the wayward thing will be taken to wife (unlike you, who will never be taken to wife), and she too will live longer than you. Shoot her down, shoot her down, you say. And down comes the Wendy bird, and