Was there some basic flaw in her makeup that made her keep falling in love with this man who couldn’t love her back?
Ring around the rosie. A pocket full of posie. Ashes ashes, we all fall down. Some people say that this poem is about the Black Death, the fourteenth-century plague that killed 100-million people. . . Sadly, though, most experts think this is nonsense. . . How can I be so sure about this rhyme when all the experts disagree? Because I ate the kid who made it up.