Heather, for your birthday poem this year, I did you a little nursery rhyme. Sorry about the delay. Blame it on the self-imposed (and self-evident) restriction on the pool of words I could draw on. As follows:
Heather
Heather hath heart.
Heather hath art.
Heather hath three at tea.
Her hearth hath heat.
The three here eat:
A her, a her, a he.
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