BOB'S QUANDARY

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I s’pose my head is like a chest,
With drawers and things inside;
Some small for dates and words to spell,—
The rest just deep and wide,
For states ’bout which I’ll have to learn,
And products, grain and wool!
But what I’ll do I’d like to know,—
When every drawer is full!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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