Meta
Unshackled, bereft of defining form
She rears her “ugly” head
The purists discuss, debate, decry
They stone her and leave her for dead
But she is made of sterner stuff
The bullying shall not cow her down
Self-contained, like clockwork, on her own terms
She stands up and puts on the crown
The structure of the crown, however she notes
Is an aspect of much interest
To some it’s a box with treasures abound
To some – just pass a self-test
Unshackled, reborn, the crown on her head
She stands up mighty and tall
Although only four verses long, she knows
In herself, she’s answered her call
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