The sweat bead amidst the hair on his palm
Is the only thing close to sapphire he has
And the trickling blood from where the chains bound him
Is the only vermillion for his bride.
Tonight they must consummate their love;
The wedding was shallow and fun.
A slave and a slave's bride
Will make it for the run.
Is there hope, she wonders.
It seems like the clouds are always black
Come rain or sunshine.
A century later, they rest in their graves
For what it was worth the path they paved
Their granddaughter silky smooth and laughing
Donning a crown of sapphires.
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