A frill on the fringe
Edging closer to flounce called life,
Not so much for the bounce
Nor cutting it with a knife.
I'd rather sashay through it
Quaffing it in a gulp,
Don't wait for a pulp,
Nor boutonniere of this verse,
Open it like your precious purse,
And then, with it you go,
And then, with it you flow.
An Opus to be made...
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