Lisa Est Malade
There was a time the sun could find no fault in Lisa
A time she radiated joy and love
But now she is not well
Sweet lovely but unwell Lisa.
I wish that I was chef enough
To conjure up such sweet and strong confections
As might perhaps lend her the strength
To fight that thing that ails her.
But neither can I be with her
To hold her hand and pray
Some god might help to mend her ills.
No, I cannot be with her
Nor pray
To a god who does not see her worth
And heal her
Such gods cannot exist
And I will send no prayer to vacant heavens
All that I can do is write this ragged verse
to remind her that I think of her
And wish that I could make
Sweet marmalade for Lisa.
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