Stung By The Wrathful Bee Of Self Nature

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The study, not aptly named, filled with smoke
Master sat with Sir, and Sir sat with him
Sir stood up, a strong youth, suntanned, to stoke
The fire. Fiery love indeed, face grim.

He Inquired after Mademoiselle, the meek
And Master replied with a grimace, “Aye,
She is well, though to write Death on her cheek
Is to down her yet to bring life to her eye.”

“She hates what she is and hates that she does
She is the Phoenix, reborn from the ash
She will hear no comfort, our words buzz
Therefore, she wallows, hassles, hides her gash”

To be subjugated to serve in life
Is to sever ties with Gash-Maker Knife





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