Forty-fourThere once was a gal growing old,Whose body felt terribly cold.With each creaky wheeze,She’d laugh with a tease,“Forty-four is pure gold, I’m told!”Her lungs may have lost their fine flair,And solitude seemed quite the scare.With each little cough,She’d jokingly scoff,“At least there’s still some life to spare!”She’d say with a twinkle so bright,”Though dark now, …

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