You fine and dear friend,
Whose nature ne'er bend,
And life lived out through countless being.
I look to the ground,
Without admitting sound
From my mouth, my hope is to not flee.
Give me virtue, give me strife,
Give me the ecstasy of life
And forge within my marrow the stuff of saints!
For this place has made me sad
And the hatred displayed by those mad
Men has fleshed out my beauty and forever taints.
I require a piece of you,
While admitting faults like dew
That cover my inept and wayward heart.
O, give me strength
To repent in length
And change my hideous being into art.
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