October 25, 2009
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Soap was such a fickle friend –
He sat in my white tiled bath
Claiming to care to defend
Me from an evil-smelling wrath.

He will run out as I
Go through bars, day after day,
Every night, I say goodbye
When he disappears away!

Like a broken record, useless
Skipping over dirt and mud;
He abandons me in distress
If I scrubbed, I’d still find crud.

Broken he was, unrelenting.
When my cleanliness vanished
Even foulness saw repenting
Filthy grains never finished;

Soap – whose soft touch would have given
Purity to disease

Slipped far away, unforgiven;
Left us to a life of fleas!

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