Hey Diddle Diddle
The cat lay recumbent upon the luthier's bench
among violin carcasses and something French.
Morning cows making their way to the milking stool
stepped over a reflected moon in last rain's pool.
The farmer's little dog yapped in obvious glee
at the potential for milk, some butter, or ghee.
The Potters reflected on the note they've just seen.
Their dishy young girl, eloped, with boy from canteen.
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