Paupers and Puppets of Plumczajka
Ask me about my sorrow, and mine shall be Plumczajka Not Plumczajka, but rather the fond memories of her busy alleys and outskirts prairies of her felines purring in the night's embrace of her streets once bustling with people The vigor of life slipped away From the city once dreamed by royals Leaving an empty husk of rubbles and ruins Sheltering paupers and their puppets who hums lullabies of plums and pomegranates
