By Benjamin Shapiro
Ethereal sprites twisted and danced, darkly

Before her failing eyes,

The planes spread out beneath her, starkly,

On this, the day she died. 

Her battle lost, tears watered the soil,

Along with her life’s blood,

Darkened dirt turned slick as oil,

Death within a puddle of mud. 

How had she fallen quite so far,

This Queen of all the land?

It began with a shooting star

Falling into the wrong hands 

And thus began the sad, sad tale

Of Queen Margaret the Magic,

And the quest in which she failed,

Her story, oh so tragic.


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