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(spam poem by Edward Desautels)

outdoor glasses open
to lonely winter
promise our Indians
the reservations sold

we affirm our pretty town
behind the cannon
preempt the encounter
conduct our inquiries

redeem thy foundry
we cry on horseback
our vapours seeth and tumble
in the upper regions

we have done ill will
we have asked and promised
we have consulted the general
we have thrown our fits

dear reader behold
the discovery of Maine
come to us and ask
if our idea is expensive

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