| The hunchback in the park
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| A solitary mister
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| Propped between trees and water
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| From the opening of the garden lock
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| That lets the trees and water enter
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| Until the Sunday sombre bell at dark
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| Eating bread from a newspaper
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| Drinking water from the chained cup
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| That the children filled with gravel
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| In the fountain basin where I sailed my ship
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| Slept at night in a dog kennel
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| But nobody chained him up.
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| Like the park birds he came early
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| Like the water he sat down
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| And Mister they called Hey mister
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| The truant boys from the town
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| Running when he had heard them clearly
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| On out of sound
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| Past lake and rockery
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| Laughing when he shook his paper
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| Hunchbacked in mockery
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| Through the loud zoo of the willow groves
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| Dodging the park keeper
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| With his stick that picked up leaves.
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| And the old dog sleeper
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| Alone between nurses and swans
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| While the boys among willows
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| Made the tigers jump out of their eyes
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| To roar on the rockery stones
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| And the groves were blue with sailors
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| Made all day until bell time
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| A woman figure without fault |
| Straight as a young elm
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| Straight and tall from his crooked bones
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| That she might stand in the night
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| After the locks and chains
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| All night in the unmade park
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| After the railings and shrubberies
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| The birds the grass the trees the lake
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| And the wild boys innocent as strawberries
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| Had followed the hunchback
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| To his kennel in the dark. |