. Wayward Their frosty hearts and polished oaken door Slammed shut the night she found her stolen voice. She sang a moonbeam song---a shocking choice In mystic keys that spurned the common score--- A black-sheep beat that rocked the status quo In jarring notes of pink and indigo. Her sickened kin---they banished her from sight With tongues so sharp they severed touch and tie; With barbs so blunt they bruised her summer sky. Through squalls of pain her bold refrain took flight--- A...
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