Henrietta Pearce


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Best Poem of Henrietta Pearce

The Circle

My hands burn from the beating
And still they strike
This is the happiest pain I know.

I will cheer your harshest villain
And mourn each of your last breaths
And I will remember us for you.

For you are a spark of light:
You do not assume greatness
But now that it is dark,

The people are noticing.
You descend
They rise

Read the full of The Circle

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