The Maid's Song The sun climbs high, a golden crown, And dust motes dance


The Maid's Song The sun climbs high, a golden crown, And dust motes dance, a silent gown. The house awakes, a slumbering beast, And I, the maid, begin my feast. With cloth and brush, I chase the grime, From polished wood and marble chime. Each corner swept, each surface bright, A symphony of order, pure and light. The whispers rise, of lives unseen, In portraits hung, and spaces clean. A tapestry of stories told, In silver spoons and linens bold. But in the hush, when shadows fall, And silence reigns within these walls, I hear a song, a whispered plea, For lives unseen, for liberty. For though I tend, with willing hand, The needs of those who command, My heart yearns for a life unknown, A world beyond this polished stone. So I will sing, in quiet grace, A song of hope, a hidden space. For even maids, with hearts ablaze, Can dream of freedom, sunlit days.
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The Maid's Song
The sun climbs high, a golden crown,
And dust motes dance, a silent gown.
The house awakes, a slumbering beast,
And I, the maid, begin my feast.
With cloth and brush, I chase the grime,
From polished wood and marble chime.
Each corner swept, each surface bright,
A symphony of order, pure and light.
The whispers rise, of lives unseen,
In portraits hung, and spaces clean.
A tapestry of stories told,
In silver spoons and linens bold.
But in the hush, when shadows fall,
And silence reigns within these walls,
I hear a song, a whispered plea,
For lives unseen, for liberty.
For though I tend, with willing hand,
The needs of those who command,
My heart yearns for a life unknown,
A world beyond this polished stone.
So I will sing, in quiet grace,
A song of hope, a hidden space.
For even maids, with hearts ablaze,
Can dream of freedom, sunlit days.
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Checkpoint & LoRA

Checkpoint
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