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The answer waits in the question that’s half-spoken, / The oak in the acorn, theory in worry, / The poem you write is already foreshadowed / When you pencil the first warm phrase, and every word / Is a choice that lessens choice, till the anxious voice / Picks one last possibility out of silence.

— The Whittrick by Edwin Morgan

Long, slim; short furry tail. Reddish-brown upperparts separated from white underparts by a wavy flank line.

— The Weasel
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