Form: Quintilla

Who is that woman I see here
Who she is seems very unclear
With her short hair feathered with grey
I see her stare at me each day
How did she thus come to appear?
L’Oréal it seems makes her go
The creams and dyes that gently blow
The webs of time away from me
Inside my head I'm thirty-three
Not that old bird I do not know.


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