The Major Domo took his bath this evening,
Praising servants upon his call,
Flutters of the fingers gestured will and rhyme,
Though communication dispersed mid-air,
We could've sought to find the need,
That played upon his pudgy grasp,
Yet, we could no longer bask in that light,
For the bubbles, we forbade his breath
Funny, I find, the glazed eye stare,
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