From my narrow cell
I wish that I'd grasped at dreams
When I could still grasp
Shielded from all storms
I long for the sensation
Of rain on my face
How she would have loved
A bouquet of roses then
More than a wreath now
Spirits and specters
Are not found in the graveyard
Only dirt and bones
Foolish epitaphs
Vainly issue a challenge
They can never win
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