Weed I am,
I am mourned
Destined with tears
Grief I have gained.
Why is she crying?
Why is she sole?
Yes, she lost a dear one
In the battle cold.
A vagabond of calmness
A soul of compunction.
I drove around aimlessly
With the structure of a lady.
I rue her for sure
But destiny proclaims all.
Am I revered.
Or I am laud.
It is a pastoral elegy
That says it all...
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