Fields so often lack in level
Blades equipped and sharp the bevel
Wings emerge – still it’s the devil
Singing notes in treble

Flowers bloom, we pluck a petal
Hidden shames behind the medal
Hands indulge in muck to meddle
Lies we often peddle

Blossoms cloak the thorn and nettle
Angers boil in our kettle
Testing wills and breaking mettle
Damages to settle

Civil shapes become disheveled
Failures now our cause to revel
Boulders crush the tiny pebble
Hero, cur, or rebel?

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