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