All my Courage at 20

I frantically write my letters.
Not to friends or family, but men.
I don’t tell of my love at 15,
Or my head of home
Mayor of the King’s Queen.
I bring no attention
To my impeccable aim
For the examiner’s head,
I say nothing of
My father’s death. I hint
Not at my aim with the
Rifle, or counting behind bars.
I merely tell them “Please
Make sure this is published.”

I hope my work will live on,
For I will be shot tomorrow at dawn.

The End

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