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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