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The Prince
copyright 2011
Starry night bring thee fair love
Ah praise be the holy dove
Who resides above
The stars shine as bright as the candles flame
As if they are lighting the path over the crippled lames
Hands on bright silver swords
Or on the pen which write these words
A grand slash, a parry, a thrust
The body falls in a deep hush
As the swords come in and crush
The prince made ready to be crowned
His young face plush and round
Ready should be his loyal men
To fight within the dragon den
He named Arthur in his youthful days
He now named king for always
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