In the valley of despair,
full of aught, but strange thoughts,
where darkness wrapped the welkin
and silence ruled the fields,
a mere lonely soul,
walking in solitude.
The lush green grass,
swayed in the breeze
as the melancholy of the soul,
swooped in the puff.
Prickly paths were those,
yet she felt as snowflakes,
as pain was all around,
utter pain was ruling her.
The valley seemed ...

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