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I know of
a lady named Rose,
Who runs around town without clothes,
In sunshine and rain,
I think she's insane,
She shows off much more than her toes.
And
then there was Heather*, we know,
Who's feathers she wanted to show,
But not like our Rose,
Who loves to expose,
Our Heather quit that long ago.
This
new girl is more of a vamp,
While Heather was only a scamp,
Our Heather was sweet,
From head to her feet,
But Rose is no more than a tramp.
*read "Heather's Feathers"
for a complete history.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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