The lives cease directly.
In the cellar, life can end abruptly,
for it's pardoned incorrectly.
The cellar sits beneath Winster cottage.
Its temporary flowers, like all deceptions,
Trick the eye away from the carnage
And casts anew false perceptions.
The old Winster home is always present,
Sitting on the green, grassy hill.
If the plaster walls were transparent,
The sights would be most shrill.
The house stands alone on the crest,
Consuming some and threatening the rest.
Thanks.
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