Poem thirteen (some humor)
The mop
Was playing
With the floor
I told him (husbands!)
Women get angry
When you
Lipstick the floor
Make sure
You have bleach
In your bucket
That is my wife
She feels all germs
Will be gone to heaven
Forgive us God for this killing
So where did this
Flu of hell come from
Now my dear
You can't put the world
Under your mop of bleach
That floor belongs to God
The mop
Was playing
With the floor
I told him (husbands!)
Women get angry
When you
Lipstick the floor
Make sure
You have bleach
In your bucket
That is my wife
She feels all germs
Will be gone to heaven
Forgive us God for this killing
So where did this
Flu of hell come from
Now my dear
You can't put the world
Under your mop of bleach
That floor belongs to God
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