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While going through restored old files, I came across this poem from A Shropshire Pooh:
Speaking of shameful confessions....
---L.
From far, from stream and gorse-bush
And Hundred-Acre Wood,
The stuffing of life to fill me
Rolled hither: so it should.
Now — for a stitch I tarry
Or I will fall apart —
Take me in hand and sew me:
I'll show you where to start.
Patched now, and I, old favorite,
Stay worn but get no worse;
And to the wind's twelve quarters
I'll hum my endless verse.
Speaking of shameful confessions....
---L.