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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Psychology · #1444394
A poem in Huitain form, for a contest
I stood there on a narrow choice,
Made by my friends, though now undone,
They made to ask, with brazen voice,
Why I despised their summer fun.
And bend I under reasons gun?
From where should come my grief and shame?
I bask within their summer sun,
Reflected, as my moonlight flame.

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