On an open plain, amongst the lies,
On a road that curves and winds,
Where weeds do grow and rise,
Lies the grave of Sarah Wise.
It was near this road, her end she did meet.
A Lovers’ quarrel rising in the summer heat.
Turning Love’s eye in the name of trust,
Ignoring obvious signs of rust.
On an open plain, now the tears run dry.
Down a road that curves and winds;
Where weeds do grow and rise;
Up, through the bones of Sarah Wise.
Poetry
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