she has been at work
dodging fear
warding off
the creeping panic
a secret race

but time is running out
the Roman empire crumbled
the British empire decayed

the kittens
pule for their milk
things don’t look right anymore
too many copies of a copy
the original recycled years ago

her torch dims
strains burns in
her wide shoulders
yet
steadfast in the storm
she soldiers on

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