The fire in your eyes rages at injustice,
ignited by starvation of the young.
An untouched lilac amongst a field of scorched roses,
some would mock and scorn, but never I.
Your beauty is only increased by your fervor,
your majesty and grace rising above even those you wish to dethrone.
It is they who should rip their stockings and their silks as you pass by,
they whose scented and powdered wigs should be castoff in shame,
yet they will never know until their heads roll and their lives are forfeit at the hands of the nameless executioner.
All hail to Thee, my Queen.
the marred and ragged Lady.
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