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My five-year-old daughter wants to see the snow for the first time,
So I start scratching my elbow and down comes the psoriatic fall.
Snowtime is far and fickle but she laughs at the one at hand,
Now recall my five-year-old siestas, where
I would lie cold in the living room, knowing
That my reticent granny would never leave me uncovered, and so
I'd curl up every time the covering-time occurred, and, knowing
That whatever I might see bad of her, I'd never demystify the many savings of her covers,
Now hope my daughter will never curse the moment she inherited my genes.