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the next time she comes to the door
When I saw her face I thought she would whine
But she did not grouse a bit this time
This was one of her tattling-feasts.
This annoyed me beyond Golem’s beasts.
I detest tattling more than gossip I know now.
Her attitude is dour, her face a big bow-wow.
The next time she comes to my door, I will not be home.
I will be drinking my tea, under the window, writing a poem
Copyright ©
Caren Krutsinger
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