my love for you no one can take away,
it matters not if he be thief or law.
and in addition no one else could pay -
a mole of cents could not make me withdraw.
and if you ever think upon that time
when numbers sixty-three and sixty-five
were more important than a nurs'ry rhyme,
then you will know that now we're more alive.
so put the kettle back upon the range and keep all worry distant and remote. through storms we've come, uncannily and strange, as butterfly lycaenidae will float.
all puns aside, I now must make it clear: there's been no itch in this, our seventh year.
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