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THE SOUL OF MAIDEN
Destiny fraught with hardship
So much in aconite life of the
hapless soul
In row prone with some ponce
Who could save as she fret?
Being conscript in a route routed
march
On lisping lips of the humble
tongue
Like bird she could afar and
appear in minute
As it were when one is peregrine
in gradgrinds
It could be anything but help
Dove like as seen on thy alter
Not just a deist in your
conception
What could have warrant such
Towards these wench
If there were life after where she
was
The issuance of ones isonomy
to beloved family
Like teddy bay roaming in the
hands of strangers
Straining in no altercation
Yes, she live up to her mournful
pride
Waited in many of her days
Maybe the sun could deign and
benign on her path.
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