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The Card

I once tried writing you a card
In letters of the purest gold
But that old goldsmith found it hard
Not to smelt the words in his mold

To a ring of gold it transformed
But too large, for so much were said
As I was soon to be informed
It fits well for your biggest maid

So then, a small ring it became
You behaved with a little spite
But you knew who really to blame
And begrudge how little I write.

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