My Gaberdine's Halitosis
My gaberdine hung on the wall,
On the rusted hook
That I brought forth from your abode
And now my gaberdine has caught dust
And it sweeps the floor each time I walk past it
It sends a whirl of wind.
The wind is foul, pale
Just like the cushions on your couch.
It smells like the kind of breath that you blow upon me
At five morn.
It is my Gaberdine's Halitosis.
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