You are, I’m sure, the one of purest wit.
The words you wiled cut the mind that let breath
Lungfuls of worldly knowledge that can’t quit.
That word-sword you swing pray it never be sheath
Never will I forgive that evil crime.
The world cannot accept a voiceless you.
My eyes forever miss a silly rhyme
Composed by an almost sweetly hue.
A heavenly trumpet called out ago
The coming of a baby girl did they sing.
Moonlit is her skin that surpasses snow
Her intelligent, piercing, green eyes do bring
Truth to the surface something never known
But softly, never will she leave you alone.