Crimson Parades


When evening turns twilight,

Rolls down the old white drape.

Pretty pedestals are again erected,

To glorify the divine shape.

Adorned in fine silk and gold,

An inspiring woman the form makes.

She personifies pure goodness and strength,

A virtue that no evil ever takes.

Her victory receives a grand celebration,

People rejoice for her sake.

Then a sound of drums escort her,

On a path only she can take.

She marches tirelessly towards light,

With a will that none can break.

Crimson hues paint the parade,

And slowly she rests amidst the lake.

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