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on the chessboard of life, we are mere pawns;
tossed by fate's whim,while destiny yawns
a pitiful piece often dismissed as weak;
but while in a match never undermine the meek
for even when the pawn is captured in the game;
the board remains, still offering another chance to claim
in his smallness lies the power of will,
and in his sacrifice ─ hope does instill
YOU ARE READING
Throes of Spring ✔️
Poetry[FEATURED] godhood is just like girlhood: a begging to be believed
