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My Aunt Sue

She was frail as a split rail with rheumy eyes

That surprised with their youthful twinkle

Which she sprinkled on all she could see.

Wheezing when she spoke, she poked fun

At herself for being beyond the pale and a

Little stale on current events but spent most

Of her time on line searching for the long lost

Love who had shoved her aside the day before

She was to become his bride. It mattered not that

She was not going to find him. the daily search

Kept her perched and alert for that glorious day

When she could say: “That’s him, and he’s still mine”.

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