On the edge of civilization
A babe is born with complications.
Her darling face peeks out from a shawl,
The mother, first setting eyes on her daughter,
Examines the flawed features, and suddenly bawls.
“She is ruined, forever,” she desperately cries,
“Who brought about my poor child's demise?”
Her lips are warped, never to be kissed
Upon viewing her permanent grimace,
All lovers will desist.
Though many of life's joys were missed,
In time, the baby became a young lady.
A secluded, corner market stall,
Nestled snug against the wall,
Is run by a maiden, a thrall to her culture.
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