Song for February
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In union, intertwine,
A dance time fades.
Each thrust, love's cascade,
Melting, passion's design.
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On Turnus' fate, the battlefield's cruel stage,
The spear's sharp thrust pierces through destiny.
Its weight, a burden carried endlessly,
Reverberates through Rome, an ancient rage.
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Upon the cross, a silent figure hangs,
A sacrifice that penetrates the soul.
The spear's cruel thrust, a paradoxical toll,
Opens the eye of imagination's fangs.
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In history's rhyme, the tales intertwine,
Thrust, pierce, and penetrate, their echoes chime.
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