Aoide,
Within this crumbled page, all hell for me,
my youthful passion fades in steep decline,
words do falter; then, I awake in thee!
If I can only master but one line
my mortal heart can win thy love divine.
I take my knife and make these verses bleed,
not saint nor king can halt the flow of time;
to know thy bed, should all the Fates decree
to own the heart that will my master be.
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