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Self-approval never seemed so satisfying Than in a world, upheld by the lie, that public outcry, Was the true measure, of truth's worth: Virtue in it's true form. Words of truth, hold no weight
Do you or I find literature difficult to read, or write, extract a verse or two? A poem by meter, to cause a stumble upon style. Where o’ where doth the rhythm peak. An anapest followed by dactyl treat.
The girl sat on an empty street Her face was as sullen as her surroundings She softly lifted her face in hopes of a single ray of sun