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The Loss of a Maiden

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There by a stone wall of vine,
Props a mourning maiden on the grass,
Whose tears ruin her gown, the shade of wine.
Proles stroll by wondering who's this young lass.
Forevermore she sits in her little cove
Feeling lost and unwhole
Without her young love,
A deep gap lies in her soul.
No longer in denial is she,
But not yet accepting the fact.
Her grief is reaching a certain degree
When this fact settles in at last.
The fact that her love has spilled red,
Her love that's lying in her arms, now dead.





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