“The fur-lined malefactor fed a fortnight On lettuce carrots peas, Slyly keeping news from friends below.
Laden gun half-aimed, I stalked: That gorging salad-engine’s tender paws Which sensed the weight of lead shot in my pocket, And soft-footed off before I reached the hedge.
My shadow half-close, Approaching blackout had low odds On lead-slug hitting his well-padded neck.
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