A waist without beads
Is a waist without worth
Cool-blooded like a piece of meat
In a waste bin for a weevil
Waddling in confines unashamedly
Which cannot waggle a man
To a warfare against his own will
Knowing such cannot whet appetite
A waist without beads
Is which cannot drive man to wetland
For which he cannot warble
Nor worship nor warp
Like a hot metal out of fire
Wary of weighty matters
Amidst the warmth of the night
Like a coin which cannot whimper
At gentle touch
To bend a man to whim
But whacking the fold unperturbed
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