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That was a poor idea you had
for dying as one. It wasn’t bad.
You were the one who chose the cliff;
I trusted that we’d end up stiff
when using it as lover’s leap.
But no! We landed in a heap
and didn’t die there on the ground.
Now look at us. We’re wheelchair-bound.
You’re always nagging. This cliff’s higher.
OK, because I’ve no desire
to live with you. So one, two, three,
I hate you, dear. And me you. WHEE!