Poet's note: When one moves into a starving student apartment, one expects certain privations with regard to space. The following pays tribute to a pleasant surprise in our lodgings:
*clears throat*
I thought that I would never see a big old closet just for me.
(Hers on the right, his and hers on the left)
But six by nine, and nine feet tall, it holds my stuff, and I mean ALL.
A bunch of shirts (way too many) with suits, shoes, hats and pants aplenty.
A tub o' tools, plus food and water, it stores it all, as a closet orta ("ought to," colloquialism from the musical, "Oklahoma")
Oh, closet mine, of you I'll rave--just add ESPN, you'd be a man-cave!
The end
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