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The Times Table - Poem by Robert Frost

More than halfway up the pass Was a spring with a broken drinking glass, And whether the farmer drank or not His mare was sure to observe the spot By cramping the wheel on a water-bar, turning her forehead with a star, And straining her ribs for a monster sigh; To which the farmer would make reply, ‘A sigh for every so many breath, And for every so many sigh a death. That’s what I always tell…
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