Choir boy

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Note
I'm seeing people suffer through my writings here so I'm gonna give you a handy info before writing this.
This poem is based on a real practice during medieval times..

The 'choir' is you know the classic orchestra thingy in olden times and is still there..
Classic music is alive.

So to keep the high-pitched voice of the boys in singing they castrated them so they can have ever flexible voice. And ya castrated or emasculated means to cut of the male organs like testes..
they are also known as castrato

Now u got the hint!
Let's start it's gonna be good don't be terrified that practice was banned in 18th century....
Ya long time fellas
—————————————-

I'm stuck in this voice cellar
Singing a vocal cord..
Handing so flexible
Singing "my love..I'm yours"

Entreat me to come accord with this?
Because music is entranced

I sing for her, a maiden great who will not vow to make a wed-gown

I scream my heartbeats out because love just fell from grace....
I look at her and decide cuz I can't touch her braids

When I was quarter
A fella of young face,
They took away those Lil pulse that differs me and that case

They threw it all in a cascading bag saying now sing this again

Because now the bloodshed keeps on cuz love can't kiss her face..

The anger I had implying now it took it all in days

I can scream and cry still singing songs of her when she'd be engaged


The bright here darkens now cuz this castrato has left this wage

He tries to rush in the stalls where the maiden rings all grace

Now the moments halt in faith malice and doom
The truth has darken on un-lad daze

Which is trying to unzip the the lace

And here it's cast a voice of riot
I'm here dying in a professor's gaze

And now
Alas
I say once more
Pitty that I can't hold her wrist
Kiss her lips
And touch that crest
Mark her fists

A voice of lass a heart of gists
Dancing this lil balled

Be safe my maiden
I say atlast
Not the lad you hoped the Alice

But if you hath choose me in past
I would actually be there to gloat

Sorry no corpse can't tell
What I should say but gloat
Here I vain
In you cuz I shall
Dream of you till I'm drained

- To the lad of roses and the one I can't touch

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