Our Customers and Our Salad
Your job shall be on the line
And, sure, Agatha’s and mine,
If on our salad our customers dine
And taste our wine
But fail to feel fine
This betraying with faces frozen
And a wish another hotel had chosen
The looks of one served oceanic brine
Eyes with contemplated murder shine …
So, over that we won’t pine
You do for a stitch in time that saves nine.
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