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The mistress of excuses
A charley horse is killing me, so I am dragging my left foot
I cannot meet for lunch, for my face is full of dirty soot
I am limping a little thanks to a torn meniscus on my knee
You will have to have your church tea without little ole me
Arthritis is crippling my fingers, so I cannot do quilting you see
My eyes are doing poorly, so I cannot help with the spelling bee
Baked goods are not possible, my oven is on the blink.
I cannot bathe your baby; there is a cobra in my sink.
I cannot meet you that day; I have an appointment I know.
I despise giving you these excuses because I love you so.
Maybe I could meet you next September for some dinner.
I want to wait until then, in the hopes I might be thinner.
Copyright ©
Caren Krutsinger
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