LADY BORN THIS DAY
Take a cup, a miraculous friend,
Lower your eyes, lad, shy scout,
My guests, no more be out,
cheering Lord for happy end.
She is a lyre, my rhyme lady,
with her arts of whisper’s ready
to indulge us with default.
On the eve of the revolt.
Praise her shining! Whose conductor
such a me so meaningful an actor?
Through oracle’s rhymes lying ...
Orpheus” sister is not dyeing!
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