I estrange: the gurl goes outa me, I change from terrain sans milk, Honey: funnything shrivels, gism yet dribble

 I estrange: the gurl goes outa me, I change

from terrain sans milk, Honey: funnything

shrivels, gism yet dribbles tho' for the thought

that She likes me in my flowered dress and best,

She matters not for me to p in HerRoom

'midst cruds and bloods; we OfThePad make glad

celebration that I, no longer guy,

share of such lactation

commensurate with Our Station.

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