Amidst the mists and coldest frosts,
With stoutest wrists and loudest boasts,
He thrusts his fist against the posts
And still insists he sees the ghosts.
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Nursery rhymes |
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Amidst the mists and coldest frosts, With stoutest wrists and loudest boasts, He thrusts his fist against the posts And still insists he sees the ghosts. | |||||||||||