For thou art what my heart and thoughts foretold.
If ye want change, myself be humbled meek
until I formth perfect in thy mold.
A man hath perish inching thick and through
to reach such orchid flowerth such as thee,
yet ye thy tabernacle laid construe.
I hither forth with goals to set ye free.
Deserveth gold and myrrh and frankincense
for 'twas the gifts befitting all ye soul.
And I must kneel and search for recompense
to match thy fruits ye lasting glaze hath toll.
And findth me the strength to make this shown?
With dirt now scattered this shall be unknown.
