When blind Garbo slumped by a pillar,
She feared champagne’s popping would kill her.
Cyd Charise in silk hose,
Though she shared this repose,
Showed Moscow’s “Red Blues” made her iller.
In the days he was he, and he she,
A queen only could tell her from he
And showed he of Wessex
Knew far less than her sex -
Leaving Will free to be or not be.
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