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Smudged Angel

Do you think Iíd let you go to town
With such a dirty face?
How do you dare to run and hide
And make me a disgrace?
Why should water make you run?
I know it isnít fear;
You walked through seven puddles
Before I called you, Dear.

Aha! At last Iíve conquered you.

It really was a race.

For ten minutes Iíve an angel
Without a dirty face.

©2010 Carol Morfitt

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