Inspired by BleedingRose
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Swooning strolls through meadow parks,
Alleyways of mistful darks.
In the wake of sister Mary,
This her cross she is to carry.
Nothing soon of fighting back,
Mindless rest of what she'll lack.
Whatever this cloud may be,
Soon enough she will to see.
The clouds will part,
The melodies art.
Wishing on stars,
To be your Czar.
This is the magic poem,
Repeat it twice -- even thrice,
Keep it in your wake,
This is yours to make.
