For God, nature’s candlelight falls upon both rich and poor,
And desolate wreck both to their isolated graves.
For love is poor the preacher says:
Grief and lost tears down both their hide,
Both back on hard-core that unlock the bed,
Which entertains peace and war.
Which possess simple annual obscurity.
For the same ambition mocks their trail,
Which knocks on nature’s door.
Which emotions put both allures?
Insecure for theirs to be restored, the preacher says.