Dear Child of the Flesh your Sacrifice pure
All for your Push to this High-End Pursuit
Numb your Aware its Ending Line demure
Purge all these Benefits from your Wanted Fruit
Though of Age, still Raw your Seeds germinate
Whilst Roasting the Lamb these Hawks fly to bite
When the Dharmapala's Warnings come too late
Then disrupt his Program for Full Life despite
Still by this Wish for Superstition's Core
Your Full-Circled Tale many still Subscribe
That by Virtue in Truth your Life accord
Such Plombs do seep as True Friendship imbibe.
Courage at least, your Preteen Age devise
As these Merchants still Exploit your Advise.




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