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An ode to Cynthia’s ‘leaves’

Oh how majestic a tree may be

It fills one with inspiration

When Cynthia sees the leaves a-fallin’

They fill her with anticipation

When the ground is covered to the hilt

It makes her want to wilt

With nary a leaf left on a tree

They make her want to flee

But with rake so true and head so somber

She proceeds to give them all a number

Ah one, ah two, ah three

Aw, that’s too boring for thee

Methinks I shall name them

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