By Topher Bank Scattered visions of flowering beauty - In the field behind her picketed dress Were tucked away as it was her duty; Content in lines of familiar pretense.

Father intent on bestowing direction, Protection from lust for her precious perfection. But when he was eased by her latticed impression, She slipped through the cracks of youthful discretion.

Now ripe in her day, she smells of sweet wine As she lay with her hips to another; With rosary pleas for His mercy in time.

Bathing stained sheets, she lies with another. She’s failing, and knows her Father has ailed But where old love was lost, forgiveness prevailed.

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