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The statue looked down on the world,
Gaze steady, and proud head held high.
Each morning the flag was unfurled.
Admirers would slowly pass by.

No sense of the passing of time,
The changing ways, or of his fate.
That he’d be convicted of crime –
Reminding the weak of the great.

The hammers and chisels would smash,
And he from his plinth would be thrown,
And down to the earth he would crash
And lie there dishonoured – alone.

But he’ll surely rise from the dust;
His body, though melted – transformed;
His bronze heart, it never will rust;
His spirit will not be reformed.

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