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.