Well advanced at becoming Bob Frost
At Dartmouth I my mind lost
And was from Ivy League tossed
Put into therapy at considerable cost
To have my brain teeth flossed
By the Doctor who me bossed
Every night when I'd get sauced
Dewing my duty at my post
In Hospital where I was host
And met the beautiful female Jill
For whom over dale over hill
I trekked when I was ill
Until I found the perfect pill
To keep chemical imbalance demons still
(Which make romantic chances virtually nil)
Even while perfecting my poetic skill
I hope will pay the bill
For sodas on which I fill.
STEALTH(4)/32/17-09--2/23/02
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