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The Insecure Widow
Watch your dogs, O lady, lest they growl
Lest they strike to maul and lest they howl.
For he walks upon your hot-tempered grass.
Please comfort your canines and let him pass.
O sweet and gentle widow, why do you fear?
He hates you not and thus let him step near.
Ah! Something under his arms, tucked neat.
How I watch it sway over his vigorous feet.
Rolled and knotted with a crimson thread.
O sweet, sweet woman, do let him tread,
On gathered gravel; beyond your grass,
Where you have allowed none to pass.








© Nikhil Kusnur