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Sore-al Hygiene

Silver filled incisors,
Cuspids capped in gold;
They won’t decay, they’ll simply rust
As I am growing old.

A thousand precious dollars
For attractiveness I seek;
And all that I’ve attracted
Is magnets to my cheek.

With all this precious metal
A tax-break I deserve;
I think that I should be declared
A national reserve.

When I die and head up north,
(My body six feet south),
It may be hard to be worth more
Than the metal in my mouth.

Picture of Wes Stephenson

Wes Stephenson

Author, motorcyclist, poet, and adventurer. Let's journey together.

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