His golden harp, she didn’t hide
Nor
delayed his breakfast time
Like
an ogre he roared, loud and foul
At
an err as thin as needle’s eye,
Softly
she tip-toed to a towel shelf
Plucked
one and placed into his wet hands,
Too
lazy to walk few steps for chore
Found pleasure to whip his wife.
Ah!
That Indian man!
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