From tender years you took me for granted

But still I deign to wander through your lungs

While you were sleeping soundly in your bed,

(Your drapes were silver wings, your shutters flung)



I drew the poison from the summer's sting,

And eased the fire out of your fevered skin.

I moved in you and stirred your soul to sing;

And if you'd let me I would move again.



I've danced 'tween sunlit strands of lover's hair;

Helped form the final words before your death.

I've pitied you and plied your sails with air;

Gave blessing when you rose upon my breath.



And after all of this I am amazed,

That I am cursed far more than I am praised.