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My Mother, Urs

My mother, Urs
Is not averse
To what is claimed
To be not worse,

Like apple cores
And wooden floors
And husbands blamed
For broken doors,

But woe betide
The other side
If they, enflamed,
Should try her pride,

For she will cut
Their fattened butt,
Unfurl her famed
Derisive tut,

And bring them low
To eat some crow
Till they be lamed
And in the know.

Comments

  1. A real she-bear, she sounds like.

  2. Louise Orrock says:

    Is that a curse? I was thinking while walking earlier, Prisoners of War eventually lose legs?

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