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  • Another year older, so she cried.
    So slightly closer to the Reaper.
    One less year in which to hide.

    But I'll not make a song and dance of it.
    Oh, no. Not I!

    This mirror has captured a miserable git.
    But behind a youth is grinning wide.
    A startling smile, fair and wry.

    Turning back the clockface.
    Wolf-whistling at the Reaper.

    (A little poem for you, have a tip-top birthday :-)

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