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Roses are red. . .

It wouldn’t be Valentine’s Day if someone didn’t write me a limerick; Mom came through this year. The verse included the word “gore.”  Very festive.

Blood and guts must have been on #5’s brain, because I also got a doily with this historical poem written in elegant script over a pink heart in its center:

St. Valentine hangs from a gibbet,
His estate cannot sue,
All he did was go about,
Marrying people like you,
That’s a few hundred less weddings now,
This government is making me blue.

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About secondinaseriesofsix

My job and my family keep me inspired and laughing by turns. Here's a taste.

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