What James had for Sarah: A poem 

These paths of history, these ghats of mystery 

These difficult furlongs where a story belongs 

These lockets of secrets whistling like crickets 

through ages like passages of oft-repeated adages 

The violence of time’s language we cannot assuage 

The flattening defeat caused by penumbra of deceit 

These stones of undeserved death as cruel as debt 

The tearing apart of unions like peels off teary onions 

This unsacred universe when it’s scarred for the worse 

And the travails not to capitulate, that good souls nurse 

The letters in man’s blood are guilty, shallow and carnal 

Life may be seldom vernal, but divinity is a spring eternal 

For this love is undying fire; its fabric is inflexible wire 

Unbending to scourge and vituperation like a holy nation 

What James had for Sarah was peerlessly strong and true 

Not the sharpest, mightiest sword could ever split it into two