Perplexing through a windowed glaze,
Ablaze upon the ear,
Sits so rare a sight to see,
Such a handmaiden dressed so keen.
A commission asked by a rapist’s hand,
Banned so quickly at just a site,
He sits now, waiting for the right emotion,
No longer is she dawned in kitchen apron.
Never fear, however,
Bleaker now the future seems,
Little son,
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