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Fifty plus years went by, without a hitch

Until last week, that son of a bitch gun

Old ivy, the poison of every man’s Eden

Roams, about my garden, with freedom

I must’ve pulled it, along with the dead

So, of course, it reared its ugly head

Made me itchy, scratch, scratch, scratch

Twas kind of dumb, as more did hatch

But, now, I’m on the mend, thank God

Think I’ll stay away, from that patch of sod


©2019 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
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