My Pandora

11-27-2005

Made were thou by hands of mine,

For a handsom bride to be,

My ears were deaf to knolls and chimes,

Of your Destiny.

You our many gifted one,

Beautiful and fair

Sent unto the second son,

As punishment we sent you there.

A small jar filled with every pain,

Old age, disease, ills and vice,

We thought you'd be a little vain,

To opening the case you'd be inticed.

A tiny look into the vase,

And no harm done,

You were the cause,

For you are the one.

A redeeming statement,

A softer tone,

Hope to comfort hearts rent,

And that alone.