On Being A Woman - Poem by Dorothy Parker
Why is it, when I am in Rome,
I'd give an eye to be at home,
But when on native earth I be,
My soul is sick for Italy?
And why with you, my love, my lord,
Am I spectacularly bored,
Yet do you up and leave me- then
I scream to have you back again?
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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