Wisdom, my wife, my beauty,
How long you have kissed me, left me, returned, and drawn my tears.
Wisdom, she sits caressing my face, crying also as she pulls my hair into a fist with the other hand,
Tells me we are married, then tells me in the same breath we were never to be.

Her enemies, Tongue and Pen, have called her names and torn her tenderness.
And I have cried after kissing their fair, lying lips, loving what does not love at all.
Wisdom, it pains me to watch you suffer at my hands repetitiously.
My love, my beauty, killed daily in spoken word and abrupt action.

She whispers as I hold her in my arms, breathing her death rattle,
"You have met love and know it not at all."
I weep and whisper in her right ear,
"I left her coldly for the mistress Judgment."

I lay her into an empty tomb but do not seal it,
Waiting for her to arise again,
Calling to those who met my pen,
"Forgive, and let her arise again."