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By gillfinn - About Me - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Poetry

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Ode to Cradle Farm Now, the baby had been born. Tom Kit was his name, his hair was rugged brown. Tom Kit fell many times, in travels, on Cradle farm. He stole ants from the slate, while they where busy in their work. He pulled cat’s tail, not knowing she owned it, as it brushed by his nose one day.... Sign in to see full entry.

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