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Memories Of Home (Ode) by Edna Sweetlove

The house where I was born Stood near to fields of corn But now it's gorn And I'm forlorn. Fuck me, you can't sodding Rely on anything, can you?

-=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. 11-Aug-06/4:57 PM
Were I but ten years younger, I'd have scalded this piece beyond all reckoning. Alas my obstinate buttocks have outgrown their jodhpurs, and whilst they clung loyally to their master's haunches for a time, it was with an act of tearful necessity that I disembarked from their fleshy embrace and watched them flee like dwarves into the cold dark night.




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