by | Dec 3, 2007 | Poetry | 0 comments

Venerable elder sister, don’t you see
You had me on, you lied to me.

That’s out of sorts, and very rude
You’re terminological in exactitude

I asked your age, did you decline
NO, you said, you were thirty nine

I know the truth that you can’t hide
Born in the year, Rider Haggard died

This information, gathered, now mine
There is no three, there is no nine

I have none of your guile and none of your craft
I’m younger than you, but I wasn’t born daft


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