THE MAD, MAD MUSE.
Out on the margin of the moonshine land, Tickle me, love, in theso lonesome ribs, Oat where the whing-whiHig loves to stand, Writing his name with his tail on the sand, And swiping it out with his ogreish hand ; Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, Is it the gibber of gungs and keeks ? 1 Tickle me, love, in theso lonesome ribs, Or what is the sound that the whing-whang • seeks, ,'.'.'. Crouching low by the winding creeks, ■ And holding his breath for weeks and weeks? Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs. Anoint him the wealthiest of wraithy things! Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, 'Tis a fair wliing-whanges? with phosphor rings, •■•■-. And bridal jewels of fangs and And she sits, and as sadly and softly sings, As the mildowod whirr of her .owndead wings, . ■■■'-.' •Tickleme, dear; '. . . • " ' ""'' Tickle me here! Tickle me, love, in these lonsesoine ribs 1
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/WDT18820304.2.16.13
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Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume 4, Issue 1014, 4 March 1882, Page 2 (Supplement)
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153THE MAD, MAD MUSE. Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume 4, Issue 1014, 4 March 1882, Page 2 (Supplement)
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