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THE POET AND HIS MUSE

Do I now grow old
’Cause I wear my trousers rolled
and high
Walking upon the beach

Bringing from home a favoured peach
Forgoing the expensive icecream van
And my handkerchiefed head a tan

Fearing the water’s childish laughs
’Cause wisdom warns me of the sharks

Do I now grow old
My muse to amuse
So by way of ruse
I dance upon the beach

My trousers rolled?

Apologies to Eliot

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