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The Grave

by  Rosalind

Posted: Thursday, June 5, 2003
Word Count: 65

On the place his body lies
nature's beauties grow
The earth which she is buried in
I doubt be ever known
Cruel flowers you are taunting her
you grow upon his blood
and Mary without grave now sleeps
He rests where crimeless should
Visit her, I never will
and so I visit there
to pluck the blossom from his mound
and place a thistle there