O Poor Ophelia,
Thy heart is but a range of
daisies,
While thy mind is all aloe.
Thy grief hath changed thou,
A sinner in the eyes of He,
But thy inners ring gentle
So holy shall thou be,
An image of reverence
That I revere readily.
So long as weeds don’t transform
pedals,
Holy shall thou be.
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Feel free to add whatever you like! I like to think of language as a form of poetry, expressing the right to free speech and embracing individuality. However, please do not be disrespectful.