Tiptoe across creaking stepping stones 

Quiet is a privilege for the wicked 

Taking the hidden route between empty walls

To meet the one with the ticket 

Gone with no light to brighten the path

Nothing to help the young flee 

To see the love the other half 

Of a woman who had never been free

What gossip would ensue if others knew 

Of the two lovers little rendezvous 

Gone would be their hideaway

But no pensive worry would come to pass

When all that matters is a love that would last 

In a time of medieval gain
Thank you all for reading! Let me know you thoughts in the comments.

-Till next time! 

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8 thoughts on “Passage 

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