A thousand years upon this land.
The maiden blood of your frail hand
has mingled with these twisted roots.
My mangled trees of crooked youth.
And though we are an age apart,
Penelope, we share a heart.
You galloped through this heathen wood,
the hallowed path to womanhood.
And though the angry tribe gave chase,
they couldn’t match your savage pace.
They cowered at your fearsome howl
as you escaped this forest foul,
across the ancient, holy bridge
to claim your earthy privilege.
And though I am
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