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With Morgana Le Fay burned her pyre,
The dragon's flames twirled cruelly higher.

A lamenting sorrow filled Magic's orbs,
as the rain began to fall. Throughout,

The storm in the valley mourned,
As the Woman's living cage crumbled fast.

Like a child who'd lost her way,
She had greeted death; peace at last.

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This is the finish for a poem I wrote... I always felt that the old Morgana remains somewhat and Merlin could never feel okay about killing her - any death is a grievance. It was the meaning that I found most important when doing this so along the way I sacrificed some rhythm strict rhyming would have given.

I have never shared my poetry online before it would be nice for some feedback.