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Dream Song 107: Three coons come at his garbage. He be cross

 Three 'coons come at his garbage.
He be cross, I figuring porcupine & took Sir poker unbarring Mr door, & then screen door.
Ah, but the little 'coon, hardly a foot (not counting tail) got in with two more at the porch-edge and they swirled, before some two swerve off this side of crab tree, and my dear friend held with the torch in his tiny eyes two feet off, banded, but then he gave & shot away too.
They were all the same size, maybe they were brothers, it seems, and is, clear to me we are brothers.
I wish the rabbit & the 'coons could be friends, I'm sorry about the poker but I'm too busy now for nipping or quills I've given up literature & taken down pills, and that rabbit doesn't trust me

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