At Supper Time with some Chicken noodle—jotted note on an envelope
Penelope what has a hand in the frantic flavor of some sweet, dinner!
The eating and the plating which I be making and made, nothing slave
with acting been bribery, the body of my deceased friends, queued
so to be glued in their graves, and perturbed—livelong, livestrong—
when layed there in bed, but last night I fell asleep on my couch!
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