What sits in this place but
a lone wandering eye?
Is it forlorn from the gold
calling pipes that rest
with Danny Boy.
What sits here but a
wilting rose and purple
lily and lotus?
Do call on the nerves
to stand upon this wicked
Bosworth and be still
with courage and honor.
Put your faith in no stars
Cry lies, upon this wicked charge.
James J Jackson 
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