--e. e. cummingshere's a little mouse)andwhat does he think about, iwonder as over thisfloor (quietly withbright eyes) drifts (nobodycan tell becauseNobody knows, or whyjerks Here &, here,gr(oo)ving the room's Silence)this likea littlestpoem a(with wee ears and see?tail frisks)(gonE)"mouse",We are not the same you andi,since here's a little heor isit It? (or was something we saw in the mirror)?therefore we'll kiss; for maybewhat was Disappearedinto ourselveswho (look). ,startled
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