Taxes
Taxes,
Tis the season indeed.
Sifting through the paper rubble of another year,
Would drive anyone to take some cheer.
Receipts and envelopes,
Second pages left blank,
Dead trees all around me,
Wasting paper, and my time.
It's taxes, why should any of it rhyme?
Privacy notices lie.
They gave up my stuff,
Now I have to tell them what they already know,
And pay taxes
I'm gruff
;«{
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