Outrunning the Race
My Pallor, Swordsey, Chaos, and Chalice,
Your trots are worth more than just a lot.
Gallant and smooth the winds soar beneath all of your running feet’s.
The competition shall withstand not ones untimely defeat.
I shall cast every one of you forget me nots by lots.
Up and away new Moons are sheered and marked.
Lo and behold you are outrunning the race from the very start.
Lightning’s and thunders to galore I might not forget to add.
But the skies are lit and you are the world’s greatest fad.
My Chalice, Chaos, Swordsey, and Pallor you’re remarkably grand!
Even the dust trailing clouds you left stirring up in the sand!
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