Borne of a Young Mother
It was the innocent spring of life, of which, never shared
Spent summer youth in blanket gaze or in mystic stare
Now the autumn winds, whisper of twice cried tears
Of two stories told, each welling deep, the worst of harbored fear
Maybe forever, two winters of discontent
But still yet, a band plays on
Purveyed are souls
Seasons will pass, never meant
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