Poetic-Verses
THE GLAD STONE HURT
Mourn once my Lord, and never more;
The club of dice, the pinch of flesh,
The pull of hair, the punch of eye,
The peel of skin, a clear gate set
Beneath the veil; to knock a Stone
Thinking 'twas flesh? They hurt themselves.
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THE GLAD STONE HURT
THE GLAD STONE HURT