This little world,
beneath your feet,
bringing fame to swords,
of the conquerors,
wiped the written words of fate,
from the slate of time,
and quill and strings,
on disposal of stilling verses,
while the tongue of life,
stretched to lick,
the moments of ages,
the fresh tears of the sky,
merged to fill the,
rivers of persia,
and frozen peaks of the mountains,
saw the bloodflow in their lakes,
and collusion of ages,
fuelled the tragic tales,
as the ends are always with pains,
and with mists of frozen cries,
putting the legends,
to role on downslopes.
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