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Three Throne Thorns
First it was money,
Second it was a memory,
Third they were thorns.
The memory about them, thorn turned.
Three of them died in her arms,
One after the other,
The way they were born in reverse order.
Losing them, not realizing.
The cost of her intoxicating love of money,
The pride of her home,
Her children, lost amidst monetary pursuits.
She cried engulfed in triple pains.
Her majestic look smashed,
Her luxurious standards devastated,
Like a calibrated mouse, she behaves madly.
She wept regretfully on her throne acidified.
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