Randomly I choose,
With the valor of refuge.
Strikingly I dance,
Assuming a stressful stance.
My feet are harassed,
The floor jabs through.
I twitch and turn,
In the moment, I burn.
Written by stuff of gold,
Beauty yet lying cold.
Garnished with piece of blue,
In sync with those outside queue.
A chess pawn might understand,
My feelings worth many grand.
A Philip of brilliance in tow,
I do a somersault before the final bow.
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- NISHANT DASH