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Let spring forget who she is — or what it is, though seasons be she — her water breaking in tremendous distances, trembling fingers running t’ward four o clock on windscreens; as the gloom that momentarily rainbows fought strew puddles in case of thirst, for bus-stops thirst, and umbrellas too — even if they do praise ‘hallelujah’ in april wind — count me out of fleeing from showers fortunate enough to fall while tobacco smoke rises, and I take my chance to see clean pavement.