Oh, stupendous soul,
I got your ode.
Mines’ a bore,
Though it never sore.
My shadow
Didn’t learn, doth?
I know that.
My Copperfield bud,
You lent me that industrious hand.
Spared me those absorbent shoulders.
You sent away the jitters.
. . . made me better.

When you get lost in San Francisco,
Call me.
Call me,
And we’d get lost together.

It’s in together,
Where good thing lay;
And when best moments
Take place.

You always bring a spare
sun in your eyes.
Oh, and the moon!
Right there!
Automatic, when I say
You’re nice.

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