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Break In

Guest house candles don’t sway flames

In case of intruders sweating for gold

Cautious treading, filling bags

Where he sleeps, the dreams weeze simply

Shawls of fur, lyres swoon learned

Cool melon of sleeper’s assume

Gore perfunctory, tip toe grasping

And the sleeper snores waking

Its all for the taking

And with reservation, arrives brightly

Through the house, he says smartly,

“It must be the maid”

Baying comes sunlight, long gone the thieves

Missing some instruments, some nautical sleeves

But perk for near in creeping reach

Morning melons stare great for speech

“They stole my cantaloupe! Police!”

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