The liquid of life,
Drips with a meaning,
Never Unearthed,
For it was custom,
That mandated it
The marks of a whip,
Burn with a meaning,
Never unearthed,
For it was custom,
The tears of a girl,
Drop with a meaning,
Never Unearthed,
For it was custom,
That prevented it
The screams of a child,
Drift with a meaning,
Never Unearthed,
For it was custom,
That expressed it
-Poem Fanatic
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