He loved her with both heart and soul
And hoped he'd never see a mole
Upon her face or her backside,
That grew and spread until she died.
He loved her, it was plain to see,
And he hoped that he would never be
Left to hang around when she was gone,
When her blinding light no longer shone.
And late at night he'd turn and toss,
Contemplating catastrophic loss.
It made him sick, it made him weep,
It made him lose a lot of sleep.
And when the morning came around,
He'd listen to her soft breath sound,
Except on days when the sound was not
That soft because of tons of snot.
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