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24 Male pregnancies out of hand. On Sunday mornings their lungs whine, As they jog, hop, skip and jump, To induce male abortions overdue, In the royal celestial woods. Soon after the jogging and jumping stop, The sports men sprawl to take their rest, Then, drip, drip, drip from their brows, Our budgets turned into sweat. At the end of it all, they hail the lord, Giver of budgets and sporting courses, For one shortens and the other prolongs life, A perfect balance in the status quo. The Way We Build Down, down town, plain centre of town, Stood a house needing repairs and a fence. By it, a hawkers’ shade – a tree, Heavy and mighty with age. Two hundred million francs went for repairs, And just above one ninety for the fence, Then soon after the repairs and fence, An idea, “The tree must be felled”. Parliament and the media went hilarious, And the nation got a holiday with a ‘pond’. But then in earnest when the deed was done, There was neither tree, house nor fence. ...

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