A man sits alone, looking through a window,

Singing songs to the world to scrape on by.

He watches his words, keeping tempo.

His lyrical prowess comes from on high.

He praises the Creator for His gifts,

The splendor of a candle in the wind;

How in suffering, he’s been granted bliss,

And the woman that will gift him the win.

She and he bind through a sacred embrace,

They take it slow, and learn to know themselves;

And soon, they’re tighter than a corsets lace,

Affording themselves spiritual health.

He was alone, but now she sits with him singing,

Filled with love and praise for their heavenly blessing.