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Gentle Women
They came in as gentle women
Of uncertain middle age
A few drinks once inside them
Seemed to summon up some rage
They turned on a poor fellow
Who had done no wrong to them
They openly derided him
As so typical of men
Everything about him
They freely criticised
But when he had the nerve to speak
They simply rolled their eyes
But since they did keep drinking
And at times began to weep
Slowly they all one by one
Did, happy, fall asleep.
poem
by
David Keig
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