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A Little Tooth

6
 Your baby grows a tooth, then two,

    and four, and five, then she wants some meat

    directly from the bone.  It's all

    over: she'll learn some words, she'll fall

    in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet

    talker on his way to jail.  And you,

    your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue

    nothing.  You did, you loved, your feet

    are sore.  It's dusk.  Your daughter's tall.

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