Unhinged by a wasted day,

In her queens she lay,

This way for all the times of May,

Biting her nails away,
There must have been,

A comfort to her sin,

For asleep she fell with grin,

And the bits in her bedside bin,
Dutifully he attends,

Raises her by strings,

Washes and supplies,

Then off with the golden trims,
A mural of a ring,

He smelts in rim,

To propose on a whim,

One day at the dim,
And the day did come,

Low lights and fingers numb,

Yes her heart was won,

By he who stayed long,
For many before,

Came to whore, 

The gold she bore,

But he none wore,
So now she lays a few,

Eggs, dung, and tears when due,

Always raising for to dance in dew,

With the only one who knew.