The hoard hath over whelmed us
My captors hath separated from my family
They have given me a quill, ink, and parchment,
To write my last words before the
Candle burns to wick.
Do I write of the past
The free days of love and play
Do I write of the future,
The Days I fear that are here to stay
Do I write of the present
The day of my demise.
The candle has reached the wick
Sparks are all that’s left
I hear the clang of a door opening
My captors are here, I must pay my debt.
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