Ophelia,
We hard-ly knew ya —
What with yer ginger hair,
Skin so fair,
Lover-ly gowns,
& such.
I hear ya
Left Atlanta —
Where impresarios
Feed ya Cheerios,
& Royal Crowns
For lunch.
My dear-ie-a,
We sure do miss-y ya —
Please come home.
(I have your comb.)
So come on down …
(We’ll go Dutch!)
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