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rubbed out
Rubbed out
I stopped at a low stonewall
on my slow progress
saw before me a landscape painting,
ten sheep and twelve lambs.
I thought who that painter might be,
a sudden blur in the air,
when the picture cleared there
was a mare and her foal
five sheep had disappeared;
the painting looked better,
but I didn’t linger,
I wouldn’t like the artist to
think I was a part of his picture
wanting to erase me
for the sake of the prettiness.
of the landscape
I stopped at a low stonewall
on my slow progress
saw before me a landscape painting,
ten sheep and twelve lambs.
I thought who that painter might be,
a sudden blur in the air,
when the picture cleared there
was a mare and her foal
five sheep had disappeared;
the painting looked better,
but I didn’t linger,
I wouldn’t like the artist to
think I was a part of his picture
wanting to erase me
for the sake of the prettiness.
of the landscape
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