For Countee Cullen--And the Lady He Knows
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For A Lady I Know
She even thinks that up in heaven
Her class lies late and snores
While poor black cherubs rise at seven
To do celestial chores.
This is a parody of a poem by Countee Cullen displayed in my notes.
She thinks that Blond number seven
Will make her Zza Zza Gabor.
The herbal facial was like heaven;
The back rub was a chore.
Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017
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