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Well, mind, here we have

our little son beside us:

a little diversion before breakfast!

Come, we’ll walk down the road

till the bacon will be frying.

We might better be idle?

A poem might come of it?

Oh, be useful. Save annoyance

to Flossie and besides⁠—the wind!

It’s cold. It blows our

old pants out! It makes us shiver!

See the heavy trees

shifting their weight before it.

Let us be trees, an old house,

a hill with grass on it!

The baby’s arms are blue.

Come, move! Be quieted!