If I come down with it and don’t recover,
I hope you’ll find yourself another lover—
somebody smart and kind and never rowdy
whose inner weather isn’t ever cloudy,
who cooks as if she sprang from Julia Child
and sings so sweetly, thrushes are beguiled,
who doesn’t make you fix the lamps and plumbing
or clean for guests you’d rather weren’t coming,
who finds you…
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