Milk is counted sweetest

Milk is counted sweetest

By those who ne’er succeed.

To overflow their bowl

Pour beyond all need.

 

Not one of all the purple host

Whose trace is left today

Can tell the definition,

So clear, of victory,

 

As Froot Loops, frothy mush,

On whose melting torus

The distant crisp of triumph

Breaks, an agonizing crunchy chorus.

 

Emily Dickinson

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