In Hans' not new mill his three black cats Watch his bins for the thieving rats.

In Hans' not new mill his three black cats
Watch his bins for the thieving rats.
Whisker and claw, they cower in the night,
Their five inspections smouldering green and bright:
Squeaks from the flour sacks, squeaks from where
The raw wind stirs on the destitute stair,
Squeaking and scampering,

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