He had married her on a dark winter’s morning when hope burned low
And his prospects were dim. Yet her piety to him like the gold of Araby
Shone in a heart ablaze with fire by which to warm cold thoughts
As in the grey light of day the months rolled past, then years,
And the bottom line translated meager rewards
And more mouths to feed though she sang what light was given her
Into a wondrous fount from which he drank greedily,
Shunning all but his own despairing gaze.