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A Killer Smuggler

He keeps brandishing a sword That sort of him makes a Lord, Plus the Illicit gin they hoard And his plane they’re about to board That shall soon fly over a fjord; To his territory of control, quite broad. He keeps repeating that he is The Lord To co smugglers – A horde, In whom his words strike up a chord But mainly witnesses to how his sword Had into two cut a spinal cord!

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things