Four and twenty tailors went to kill a snail,
The best man among them durst not touch her tail;
She put out her horns like a little Kyloe cow,
Run, tailors, run, or she'll kill you all e'en now.
Nursery Rhyme. Dix. Natural History
Unknown
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Poem topics: touch, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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