If I could exaggerate

My door would be ninety feet tall

You could get lost in my hall

My cat could run you over

In his brand new Range Rover

My room would have a pool

you could splash in to get cool

My table would be a dance floor

My garden the golden shore

My plants a jungle of vines

My cellar full of fine wines

My clothes would be desinger

My decor could not be finer

 

Instead of which

My door is very shabby and small

Putrid and disgusting is my hall

My cat is old and almost blind

The pool is really a puddle you'll find

My table is a folding one

My garden never sees the sun

My plants are either dead or dying

My cellar sets me off to crying

My clothes hang off me in rags

and even the wallpaper sags

 

 

 

 

 

The End

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