To my punishment
I have lasted and turned away for a childish sense of freedom I refrained before I chanted the verse of light breaking secret territory before Jane came with carresses in a box of gloves onto the shoulder of a tear I salvaged but she was white before the sunset and with the daisy in her hands she punished my writing for begging for flowers of May after Jane requested a rhyme of forgiveness for breaking in and making an enemy of her blue raincoat that we know.
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