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Doe it birth from veneration,
Or  fear, or sway?

The biblical cadence,
With which he calls your name

A prayer, of mercy
Or a hymn of praise

Lilts of his tongue,
So devoid of grace

It caresses the winds,
It folds and braids

So artful, so masterful
How so very innate

Yet missing something,
What? No one says

An act of submission
Of such distaste

So little of you to love
So little to say

The silver tongue
It undulates

In serpentine fashion
It does evocate

 Passion past words
Fruits forbade

Speak naught of lies,
That it says

With little regret
No morsel of shame

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