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by Alfred Kreymborg, 1916

The pantaloons are dancing,
dancing, through the night,
pure white pantaloons,
underneath the moon,
on a jolly wash line,
skipping from my room,
over to Miranda,
who washed them this noon.

Published in Mushrooms: A Book of Free Forms
Tags: for children, humor, night

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.