Saturday, March 11, 2023

The poet A lady said my husband, Fred. It is strange, but now I know it. I glance at his old sleepy head. He thinks he is a poet. Once, he was so slim and bright We loved to cuddle. It was nice I think somehow he saw the light. Everything has got a price. ‘Fred I whispered, feel my brow I would hold... Sign in to see full entry.

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