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Ardor or Palaver


 "We are dying, Egypt, dying."
I'm still alive and trying
to prove to you, my dove,
that I feel for you a love
you can put to any test,
which means, at your behest:
I'd jump from the fiftieth storey,
though the end of that were gory.
How proudly I would stagger
if you stabbed me with a dagger.
You can go and tell 'em
for you I'd gulp down venom.
My will can never bend,
I will love you to the end.
But one thing I'll never do,
not even, dear, for you.
"And what," you ask, "is that?"
I won't pay a penny for that hat.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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