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| ノ ヽ /⌒ )
/⌒) (゚) (゚) | .| ▂ ▂▄▅▆▇■▀▀〓◣▬ ■ … .
/ / ( ●) ミ/ .▂▅■▀ ■ ▂¨ ∵▃ ・
.( ヽ |∪| / ◢▇█▀ ¨▂▄▅▆▇██■■〓◥◣▄
\ ヽノ / ■ ▂▅██▅▆▇██■〓▀▀ ◥◣ ∴ .
/ / ▅▇███████▀ ∴ ….▅ ■ ◥◣
| _つ◥▅▆▇████████▆▃▂ ■▂▄▃▄▂
| /ω\ \ ■ ¨ ▀▀▀■▀▀▀ ■ ∴‥
| / ) )
∪ ( \
\_)
I would tell you lots of things,
I would tell you of kings, flings, and pings,
Maybe even of dings,
But I cannot write a poem, much sadness this brings
So alas all I will say,
Without nearly a stray,
Is that I saw a man the other day,
Who seemed to be in disarray,
It was not that he was grey or astray,
So all that I will betray,
It that his nose is bigger than Bombay
But in truth,
And I will say this even outside the booth,
He is as lovely as when he was in his youth.