Try as we may, try as we might,
a dearth of offspring is our due plight.
Just he and I, my hubby and me,
with nary a sign that baby makes three.
Now before I confuse, or lead you astray,
let me make clear that I like it this way.
No diapers to change, or bottles to heat.
My home remains tidy and spiffy and neat.
It’s the boon of my kind, the Dorothy Friends.
We rumple the sheets, and that’s where it ends.
So if ye be grown, then show it through deed,
because kids I don’t want, I don’t seek, I don’t need.
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