I did it, like Letty Lynton—glad
I did it! And Hell, has damn done?
Smoke—so much—a cloud created
And boldly paraded. The scent, rhymes
Sent broom to room, sweeping away abuse.
I’d do it again! What shall we protect? Ashes
To ashes—all tyrants must tire—retired or fired.
No funeral flames, just Good as aim, a foe’s dart
Returned to senders—a defender’s defiant stamp,
A kicker’s lick and a smile sealing future glad tidings.



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