Ave Maria sings to the league of the sad poets in sonnets dire and proses fermenting sorrows entombed in grottos lamenting doom in winglets penning sightlessly visions of tears of their tomorrows
Ave Maria sings for the merchants profitless hawking words snatched in minds fragmentary in waning senses poets of doom chime in distress wordsmiths lacking finesse or light for turds they carry
Ave Maria sings at joyous vespers and early morn for the gifted imbued with words of lifting praises to glorious skies to petals sunny smiles nowt to mourn heralding vows of blessings joys and living the soul rises in our world of wonder magnificence there's more for us won