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Twas twenty some odd years past four sevens 
when Armstacry’s too, were settling 
in brilliant light – dangled free 
as the southernmost maple tree.

habit twas what they whispered 
between half twice and graying whiskers 
twas half beaten wives of only five – twice 
who made such sacrifice, as three simply

vanished on a dark dreary night.

Then, brilliant stars shone on a field 
Armstacry – kicked the moon 
shapes of glass – flickered a bit; 
one nightly stroll twas quite a fit.

A gathering of people from the town,

laughed at Armstacry – as the fog lifted
a mangled body lay –

lost track of stars which lightened night – 
brought Armstacry on a fateful walk.

Alas, mighty wounds were left to signal 
– would not disappear 
as Armstacry, silent beneath moonlit skies; 
slipping through its’ dark habitat

Be strong against the mighty hand, who 

slings above their head a mighty blow, to 
snatch one so innocent, to tie in ropes and 
how whimsical, not despair, to stare.

Still the mighty wind begins to shake 
to0 soon, a maple tree  – 
as brilliant stars shine on the crest for
Armstacry, four times; all  seven die.

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