Email Poem

Your IP Address: 13.59.198.133

From Email:	Required Email Address Not Valid.
To Email:	Email Address Not Valid. Required
Subject	Required
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem	The Countess sprawled beside the sea As naked a she well could be; Indeed her only garments were A "G" string and a brassière Her washerwoman was amazed, And at the lady gazed and gazed, - From billowy-bosom swell To navel like a pink sea shell. The Countess has of robes three score, She doffs and leaves them on the floor; She changes gowns ten times a ay, Her chambermaid puts them away. "How funny!" thinks the washer-wife; "I've toiled and toiled throughout my life, And only have, to hide my skin, This old rag that I'm standing in." The Countess never toiled at all; She begged for coin when she was small, And later, in the ancient fashion, In gay resorts she peddled passion.\| But now to noble rank arrived, (Tom wed the old Count she contrived) Her youthful lover, lounging there, Is hirsute as a teddy-bear. The Countess will be honoured when She dies past three-score years and ten. The washer-women will wear out With labour fifty years about . . . Yet as the two look at each other The Countess thinks: "So was my mother; And washer-wife to live and die, But for God's grace so would be I."
	Type the characters you see in the picture Required