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Oh, Heather, dear Heather,
What became of your feather,
The last one you had left to dance in,
For the two had been sold,*
As the story was told,
And the last one was held up for ransom.
Some bikers in leather,
Kidnapped our dear heather,
And wanted ten grand to return her,
Let there be no mistake,
She’s a lovely ‘cheesecake’,
But I haven’t the money to earn her.
So I made up a plan,
‘Twas a bit of a scam,
When I told them I’d pay for my Heather,
So it must have been fate,
When I broke down their gate,
And took Heather and left them the feather.
Now I have my dear Heather,
Who is plucked of her feather,
And I haven’t the money to buy one,
But she says it’s okay,
For she likes it this way,
And the boys now call her ‘The Nude One’.
*Referring to Jean George’s poem,’
‘The Heather Chronicles Continued….’
“While learning her new profession
She had to make a concession,
To pay rent, I’m told,
Two feathers she sold
Keeping just one in possession.”
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