a poem for today, 8 October 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of five sentences and its image]
She's a vamp, she's a tramp, but she still doesn't dance.
There is no sense talking to her about anything as whatever you say will end up confirming whatever crazy idea she had before you opened your mouth.
Keep in mind, however, that just because she seems to be having a good time dancing with you doesn't necessarily mean she likes you off the dance floor.
From the day the baby was born, she began to get irritated with everything around her.
Even so, she really ought to pick up those socks.
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