She!

A vagabond was I, ravaged on these streets I lay,

Bitten and swollen was I with their venom,

The beating of my heart became distant.

Pushed, scorned, beaten, a laughing stock had I become.

They made ready for me, a deep well, my grave.

And through their derisive, irreverent chants,

I heard the sweetest voice, my Nightingale.

Her gaze made me want my heart to beat again,

Her smile mended the crevasses of my soul,

Her laugh strengthened my brittle bones,

Her touch, the flow of her veins,

Restored my decaying flesh.

I asked her what her name is,

She replied, “I am your light, your redemption.”