SPRING BEAVER

Peep your dewy eyes above the rushes,/And rush the Greek Lodge of Hera Pi./Persephone has pegged you as the lushest,/And this dam for dames is hella dry.//Don’t fret that your tail is not so flat,/Your teeth not buck, and your pelt too bare,/We love your luscious hills and lack of rat,/And your Brazilian genus’s style of hair.//Now you must learn the secret handshake,/A nominal exchange of coin,/It will open windows and connections make,/The key beam of your lodge’s groin. –William Blake

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