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Silly poem My occipital lobe would perspire with the strain Of composing a rhyme in the style of a quatrain To titillate, amuse and drive you to glee And perpetuate your ever-growing desire for me When all that I want from this moment to the next Is to lead a life where I am not constantly perplexed By the actions or reactions of the opposite sex That most often leave me feeling moody and depressed |
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