I'll pay my tax this Summer,
or maybe in the Fall.



I'll be too broke this Winter,
don't bother then to call.



I sure can't pay in Springtime,
and maybe not at all.


I won't forget I owe you,
of course, I'll have to try.



Since I don't have the money,
for all the things I buy.


I don't mind you asking
but don't you wonder why?
















   





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Poem by: Gerald Bosacker©