The Masterpiece
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The tale had come to its epilogue.
The epic’s now loosing its rhyme.
The poet was caught by his thought.
His art had committed a crime.
He made her perfect, filled her with grace.
And mould her beyond flawless mistakes.
Beaded with charms, polished with care
But she left him in great despair.
She left her master with broken soul.
She - the symbol of lust now she soars.
She’ll live in betrayal and grudge.
And her master was clothed with crimson wrath.
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