The flippant queen
is out on the streets,
with no heed to sin
On a mission discreet.
As she ambles on stilettos high
on weathered cobbled stones,
men heave out a sigh
of dreams and despair woven anon.
As her feline grace
in her gait submits,
the locks of fate in her tress
will unlock the warrior's grit.
Smattering on life and love
and on prudence galore,
and on the gods above,
trying to grasp the luck galore.
The cobbled stone on which she steps
is mute as the daylight bright,
and her black heart will drape
many a musings of valiant knights.
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