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8:50 pm
 
‘Twas on the beach under rockets bright
And darling, I saw, your. I saw all in sight.
Will she? Watch! See! She turned round all right.
For this relief much thanks. Lord! Thank you, good night.
 
Felt that ache in the butt of my tongue,
Excitement, projection, o dignity none.
But the ball rolled to her, its chosen one
Each bullet has a billet; crooked shot off a gun. 
 
Might have made a worse fool of myself,
instead of talking of nothing, small as an elf.
Widow Dignam won’t sit long on the shelf,
What happened? Won’t tell you. Find out yourself.
 
What’s next? Mrs. Beaufoy, Purefoy in hospital now,
In labor for days with sweat on her brow. 
My shirt’s wet and unpleasant; below I’m stuck, how?
Well the foreskin’s not back, better detach.  Ow!