"The wind was rough
And cold and blough; she kept her hand
Inside her mough.
It chilled her through,
Her nose turned blough,
And still the squall the faster flough.
And yet although
There was no snough,
The weather was a cruel fough.
It made her cough
(please do not scoff)
She coughed until
Her hat blew ough."
Bennett Cerf
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