Conflict.

The cross, and strife, conflict.
Caftan look over the fearful eyes.
I got the training, after training,
I started as a child to hide the pens
Bunting sugar in a box under the bed.
I spoke with my blanket in the evenings throughout the
secretly to the angel, and God.
The father said the girl is dumb as a post,
elätetä not lazy, to the world
apt to 16 years old.
As long as the device is married
meets the second 17, the neighbors
by the way the girl laugh resents anything like it.
The fire burned the girl's,
black charred feet of those.
The true reality, not a fairy tale or story,
I wrote a poem full of years of patina.