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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Fantasy · #1785836
Avalon of old
And now the time has come
For me to leave this weary place
The men of war doth bite
And wring my weary tail.

Over downs and hills
The ragged men do march
Chasing me to merry hell
And no doubt, back again.

In a field of corn
They captured me
The men of war held spite
And skinned my weary tail.


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