Alas for the ravaged girl, pallid and time-torn;
Bewitched by some brutish beast; how long should she mourn?
In some nocturnal blackness; inwrought some careless dream
Unbeknownst; whose weight has discounted smile from her mien.
Poor creature! A bedraggled fool,
Bled for louts, now feasting on you-
Why now lament your own child’s theft,
For them to tell you, your childhood years’ still left.
Soon, the deserts grew more deserted, no traveler left,
The brooks’ thawed, birds silenced, all hopes bereft—
You bended to your God, hoping for some hope;
Pity such piety; where impotence is the heroic trope.
Why then, you embroider rugs around the wounds
Only to allow them to kill you again?
I reckon, the reason must be painful to explain.
How do you pardon those who
Bit your pretty heart in two
How old were you, when you buried you,
How old were you, when you bid joy adieu?
Halt the marching time; there’s something I hear,
In this lone hour of despair
Or is it tender you,
Still awaiting them to judge fair.
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