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  • Writer's pictureR.F. Hurteau

A Pravacordian Nursery Rhyme

How long did it lay, in the ice tucked away,

That silent strange traveler from space?

Alone, without sound, it hid in the ground,

Content in the snow’s cold embrace.

Till upon it they stumbled, by such majesty humbled,

So eager its secrets to find.

If only they’d known, they’d have left it alone,

But their greed, it had made them all blind.

That which slumbered, now woken, with wonders unspoken,

Took root and continued to thrive.

How could they have guessed? They’d have left it to rest,

If they’d known what they had was alive.

It confused and confounded, intrigued and astounded,

And still they continued to pry.

How they’d fret—what regret!—when they realized that,

It was death. It was death from the sky.

A Pravacordian Nursery Rhyme

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