Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Poetry

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I may be old as dirt now,
But someday you will be, too.

There once was a man turning thirty,
Who told his wife not to worry,
Although he was bald,
He was still skinny and tall,
But she still just thought he was nerdy.

All people get old
Some people age gracefully
Richard was born old

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