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Annual ReportThe gatherings are getting smaller As we all gradually age The children procreate slowly So we are at the turkey crown stage With not half so many roasties As we cooked at the last Large bottles of sweet white Are long a thing of the past. We drink a toast to those gone on Since we all last met And to the newest member Not quite aged one yet We try to part with happy words For all to start the coming year And we wonder who'll be missing Next time the family gathers here Vote for this poem
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