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The Scourge of MankindWhen your hands are full, it's presence slowly grows, In the most annoying place, at the end of your nose, When unable to scratch it, life can be such a bitch, It's the scourge of mankind, that unreachable itch, Annoying itch on your back, too awkward to touch, To be born with longer arms, am I asking too much Unable to scratch it, I'm on the look out for a tree, Its' rough bark a source of unmitigated bliss to me, Why, when I eventually am able to access my skin, Then even deeper itches seems to develop within, When deep in slumber in the middle of the night, Attacking me without warning this annoying blight, We could use it as a weapon, no force could beat, An itch under your belt-line, or an itch on your feet, God's sense of humour, creating such an affliction, With a scratch the only cure, creating more friction Catch it , scratch it and hopefully dispatch it. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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