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A small drop falls, a stray word,
It starts with a whisper.
Travelling fast on the wings of the wind,
Spreading like wildfire.

Like a whirlwind possessed,
It gathers strength as it moves,
Flitting from home to home,
Leaving wreckage in its path.

Sucking life as it entertains,
Fanned by the flames of longing,
Knocking only on receptive doors,
The idle housewife, the bitter friend,
Rumour mongers on every corner.

Stories of woe an utter delight,
Mindless if they be true or false,
For in that moment they bring great pleasure,
Uncaring whose lives you trample and blacken,
As you delight in the juicy tales.

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