He made dirt of her Nothing like God’s craft Battered her Then bed her sore, bruised and swollen It didn’t matter The Priest had said, for better or worse Sarah was missing She had up and run As he recreated Ma, with jabs and kicks She tried a halt to
Beauty often time eludes A manifest beauty it is not Plastered in turmoil and tragedy It reeks of frustration And bears a mark of fear Still, by and by Beauty ‘neath the pain Is all life is Counting the joyful leaps And pleasant tears We gain victory And life