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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 © | Year Posted 2017




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Book: Shattered Sighs