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| a parade of pumpkin carriages |
There was a yellow pumpkin
Born on a pumpkin-patch,
As clumsy as a 'potamus,
As course as cottage-thatch.
It longed to be a gooseberry
A greengage, or a grape,
It longed to give another scent
And have another shape.
The roses looked askane at it,
The lilies looked away,
"This thing is neither fruit nor flower!"
Their glances seemed to say.
One shiny night of midsummer,
When even fairies poach,
A good one waved her wand and said,
"O Pumpkin! Be a coach!"





