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BONE OF MY BONES




After which of these,
Must we thirst?
As man may please,
Chose he first,
That which seems best.

A million ants would climb onto a single cube of sugar,
Not because it's bigger than salt,
But the creator's own will of that sort.

No beauty at first could cheer me up.
Everything seemed to be made up;
Skin hidden in contrast stocks,
Hips modified with lifters,
Not forgetting lip paintings by my sisters.

That was when I didn't Know Nancy:
It was Val's day,
And you either dressed nicely,
Or be rejected nastily.

Then appeared this silky dark and lovely,
But also majestically modelling fellow,
Shirt on top, skirt below and slips to follow.
Her rear was as bulky as pillow.

A lady I since admired at church.
A sight to behold indeed,
Such virtue in a woman I need,
But I was waiting on the Lord.

Love may be coloured red, as life is labeled green.
But what we must do with the crayons at hand,
Is not to paint but to draw a face.
Broad smiley face with or without dimples.
With welcoming eyes under a forehead of no frowned wrinkles.
All covered within plumpy cheeks unveiling a white teeth of staples.

How long should the church mouse lurk?
Can the farmer no more desire his own fruit?
If we fail to harvest fish in our ponds,
Crocodiles may devour them in tons.

In the days of the first ever couple.
Even in the presence of God,
Seeing the curvy hips of Eve,
Adam began to recite this poem;
This is now BONE OF MY BONES,
And FLESH OF MY FLESH.


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