I stood at the door of the place,
A tear rolling down my face.
I walked through the age-old building no more,
Sadly remembering the memories it bore.
It was a sweet little room,
Filled with vibrant colours in bloom.
It scented of rose and flower,
It was my castle, my princess tower.
The ruins saw events both great and small,
The present being the most tragic of all.
For now, my little building bore,
the weight o being no more.
So there I stood, at the door of my place,
A tear rolling down my face.
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