Acute Angina Nothing could be finer, Than my man's acute angina, In the morning. Nothing could be sweeter, Than to see him thump his meter, Whilst still yawning. Nothing could be slicker, Than to stop his dodgy ticker, With no warning. Nothing could be quainter, Than to go with that new painter, He's been scorning. Nothing could be nicer, Than to know I'll cash the ISA, Then go mourning. ISA: Pronounced Icer, a UK savings plan.
Sounds heartily heartless! 🙂 Great poem. I love the format. Very clever and great rhymes.
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Thank you!
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Hearty rhymes. 🤨 that painter must be fine like smooth wine. I think she’s got a plan in mind. Insured that finances will be fine. Lol I enjoyed this one to much Mr. H.
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Thank you. She’s got her eye on that painter’s palette, that’s for sure!
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😁
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