Flashing of the eye, a rapid sensation

It was a new kind of soaring relation

I, not so used to such odd feelings of grace

Built fort on opposite of the charming face

Many pondered the unusual setup 

While I drank from the lip of hate's flowing gold cup

And she awaited tired for my sword and shield

But I had more things to do than wait in her field 

As sky grows dim you can still see her gaunt face

Like a lost old woman without her past grace

And within all of our past hate relation

I can still feel that old burning sensation

The End

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