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How Many
How many of the young
fellows
Doting on your beauty now,
Embracing you in the big
Brass bed of Dylan lore
Will be at your door,
Wiping the sweat
The dust
From your brow,
Tears from your eyes,
Softly kissing your lips
When your figure is gone
Your wrinkles are strong
Your breast are sagging
Your memory lagging
A minute or two,
How many
Will?
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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