Dear Seamstress of my feet and laces,
I know you love to work in leather,
But now I see you've seen their faces
Bent down and making like foul weather.
I can't say that I blame you, dear.
A vision of such smiles upright
And in the wind such perfume near
Repels such pricking, wrong or right.
But you sew mine, and I'll sew yours,
The better to undress toujours.
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