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From citron-bower be her bed,
cut from branch of tree a-flower,
fashioned for her maidenhead.

From Lydian apples, sweet of hue,
cut the width of board and lathe,
carve the feet from myrtle-wood.

Let the palings of her bed
be quince and box-wood overlaid
with the scented bark of yew.

That all the wood in blossoming,
may calm her heart and cool her blood,
for losing of her maidenhood.
Let the illusion of loving take me
I am stronger than the oak
Let the stranglehold of hatred tempt me
I am slipping from it's grasp
Let mortality escape with those around me
I am understanding of life
Let misery abduct the heart of hearts
I am quick to recover
Let their lust rip the soul of the inner child
I am spotless resilience
Let life play keep away with my dreams
I am tenacious
Let enduring sleep try for me
I am chosen
Let the contention of family destroy the man
I am the phoenix
Let the struggles be many
I am not dissuaded
Let the enemy fill my heart with lies
I am believing
I am myself
I am all that I am become

— The End —