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Poem	The appetite which leads him to her bed Is not unlike the lust of boys for cake Except he knows that after he has fed He'll suffer more than simple belly-ache. He'll groan to think what others have to pay As price for his obsessive need to know That he's a champion still, though slightly grey, And both his skill and gameness clearly show. And after this quick non-decision bout, As he in his dark corner gasping lies, He'll hear derision like a distant shout While kisses press like pennies on his eyes.
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