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My Acne

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My acne will not go away.
That sebum-born menace profound.
How I long to see that day,
When the bugles of favour sound,

The clearness of my face shall soften the heart!
When my face, from infection, does part!

But that is a lofty goal,
What with my horrid plague of puss.
In no hay can I roll,
Until my clarity causes no small fuss.





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