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too much slag or other fertiliser,
too much political feeling,
too many oaths, too much
Kirk (you went near peril there
but I read and didn't yawn)
too many stories to confuse
me so that I draw an
exaggerated disproportioned
Andrew. There he
stood more real
than my peat fire
or my biscuits & milk
(at 7.30 p.m. but like our hero
I have a thrawn wame whiles)
with all the reality that
Goethe draws in the
last 2 lines of the