I love you with every bit the love that's in me,
admittedly not much, what to expect!
Liar nor charmer I am not.
I could be instead the hump on the back of Quasimodo,
or the dredges of late November.
What's a miser if not a hoarder.
If anything, the lady is a silent beggar,
a weather vane in the morning glory,
a Weatherspoon attempting levitation
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