The partridge whirs up frit away from her nest
& the hare with the morning dew yet on her breast
Jumps away from his hustle & bustle & noise
Which he makes in the midst of his rapture & joys
Now singing & tearing up weeds of all sorts
Showy corn poppys shining like foxhunters coats
& bluecaps & cockleflowers no matter what
To make a gay garland to stick in his hat
& now he struts out what a gesture he wears
As proud of his colours as soldiers of theirs
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Image: Poppies from my wildflower meadow
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