The ability to not in faith waver
Is grace uncommon--to not cave in
Like Abraham to Sarah's honeyed voice,
When tarrying seemed the promise--
To the pressure around, but to linger
The more in hope still, daily waiting
For God's time, like Joseph, when other people,
As the butler chief, are trotting in life and career.
Man, for what man truly is, can buckle
Down and be seeking for "better" option rather
Than be languishing, holding unto the Almighty,
Who is nevertheless the Helper of man and destiny.

The best of man's dust:
his crumb and crust.

The breath sweet in my nostril a comely gift
Is; a privilege rare, not by right earned,
And sound sleep that doth the soul lift
Out of the mire of weariness, and
Pink health, journey mercies,
and true love,
With the company of dear friends and family.
Many are the blessings that from above
To us come--children, crib and bread daily.

Like a bat it bends down
Ever and anon, this lone life,
By the reason of some smitten
Sorrow that doth with it strive -

Panting hence for water like a hart;
And like a desert, it yearns for rain.
What's broken can yet be mended -
A shattered vase, is beautiful again.

She by him like an angel always stood.
Her presence often gave him true joy
And warmth, her words were like food
To his soul, and never was his love coy
In her heart, nor was her affection with
Guile beclouded too. She's a babe unique--
Decking out in virtue, diligence and divine wit,
One that could make mortal men weak.
Howbeit she has left him in the lurch all alone,
His life and authorship to paddle on his own.

In my hand held i to a homing dove,
The very one in truth i did love.
With me tarried she in hope but away
Flew at last, making my blue sky grey.

I took my heart hence to her face
And asked it to intreat for her grace.
Though it did; but it was dry
In her ears, causing me to cry.

what shall become of my life's wow
Since love can't keep it in tow now?
What reason more do i have to live,
When my lady's love has taken its leave?

A woman sans beauty code brilliance
And behaviour good is altogether dead.
Even a strumpet doth possess a semblance
Of those, let alone a wife whose head
And habits ought to be cultured code right.
Though up a jade can her appearances light

By reshaping her natural cast in the forge
Of a beauty parlour, making a devil like an angel
To seem; yet her mien and mentality shalt divulge
The truth. The smarts and demeanour of a damsel
Sublimer speak to the heart than the artifice
Of outward lustre, which's nay for marriage suffice.