saint
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The crowds sang her fate
50 philosophers, she converted-
But not one, would share her estate
She stood, keeping her eyes on God
She saw Him
He saw Her
Both on contacts
with the eye
whatever were the
distractions to be
it was but
a sweet meet
a sweet feast
a joyous joy
Saintly silent waits he,
to have a silent slight glimpse of her again,
he silently misses her milky face,
her big round eyes.
Saintly he waits silent,
for his silent alarm to ring again,
If a sinner is what I'm called to be,
Take the halo away from me.
Take away what makes me a saint,
my angel wings you must taint.
Make me a criminal to the core,
