Lord and lady I beg thee,
Bless my dear traveler,
for the road has not been kind to him.
His spine- gnarled by careless hands,
Does binds him to a body of misery and torment.
A scourge of his own bones!
Like roots for the blades that protrude from & contort
his vertebrae.
Oh! If I were able I would curse the catalyst of his tribulations.
The devastation that derelict did force upon my love, breaks my heart Every time I look upon that beautiful crooked back.
But, instead for the agony of the man I love.
For, his recovery would be a greater reward than any retribution.