A little rat wandered in

The priest said “pustules born from sin.”

No one knew it would be the end

Until doctors from England they would send

A pustule here, an open sore there

Some hidden germs within the air

Mothers cried as children died

There was no safe haven

Then the men in masks came, the ones dressed like raven.

Bodies burned as our town depleted

The black plague cannot be defeated.


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