The Fluffy Maiden

Made up of idealism
fluffy maiden?

Thou art so fair when you
circle ’round there, tearing up the

rusty dirt, the soil of good sir mockery
making all things flockery

feather v’s to frosty night.

Just like others, a maiden’s plight

zeros and 1s making history of the messy scene

sorry old concept aged like wine in a fine time
of fright and compromise

cast a crown shadow, crossing the meadow
maiden breath blue frozen air

with the last phrase of winter on good sir’s tongue.

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