Her curse hath felled thy tongue:
No more communication,
No more sweet trips from Rome
Where the graceless civility
Gives way to the rolling countryside,
And levels into fertile holdings,
Self-possessed and uninhibited.
Escape, if you can, the brutality
Of the city's seven hills,
Even the barbaric Palatine
And the tyrant's stone cold will,
For thy punishment is just.
But what, old man, of mine?
Shall I redress and do without
On account of your infraction?
-jenn long
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