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Silvia
Let the word grow
Of sorrow and woe
Through eyes growing teary,
While we stifle our cry
As we say goodbye
To the battle weary.
She fought well
And the story will tell
Of perseverance,
Strength, and beauty
As the Poet heaves
And the Bard grieves
Over failed duty.
The Bard sits to write,
But it seems tonight
That the words simply will not come,
Though we sit here stunned
It must be done
And songs of honour must be sung.
So small and meek when she came,
A trouble maker as she grew--
In her fins of red and scales of gold
And lovely sheen of blue.
So strong was she when the plague came
And took away most we knew:
Out of six she survived,
And her sister Viola too.
Sisters came and went,
But her reserves were never spent.
She tried to take charge
When new girls were at large,
But would eventually was given time out.
She fought for life well
But there came a spell,
And mortality swelled its rout.
Our words do not seem to flow
But we know where we must go:
Though both our hearts break
We will journey to the lake.
As the fire strives
Once more she will be alive.
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