Minks
A flower, ebony and pink
looked south in the prairie,
where a huge clan of silver mink
stood like a circle 'round a tree.
The mink, fifteen in number stood
perhaps in trance, so motionless,
the fragile flower hoped they would
come near to see her pretty dress.
The mink however had no taste,
appreciation of all art,
the flower was forever chaste,
each little mink though had a heart.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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