Storm clouds gather as the forces of disturbance encircle me.
My enemies are a hundredfold and more, stamping out the dirge of contention as they advance.
Strife and conflict do battle with peace.
The harmony of my soul is troubled by discord and grief rides a mighty steed.
My courage and my strength are reminiscent of the wind.
The quiet of morning gives way to the evening breeze.
But lo, I am safe within the stronghold of my heart.
The mind keeps watch with vigor.
The walls of character repel the onslaught with great fortitude.
Guard well the gates of the spirit, for the mirror reflects all things.
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The Art of Dean. Number infinite.
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