For She will bring the bugs in the Spring
And laugh when She's deflowered.
When She's in heat, She'll give you a treat,
But you'll get disemboweled.
She rots the grain and spreads ptomaine,
When fruits of fall displease Her.
The moons and suns all turn their buns
In joint attempts to freeze Her.
- by Steven Posch-Coward (1980)
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