The chosen one
She is no angel in disguise.
Fly's but not with gossamer rise.
She paints no portraits of pretense
And haunts no twilight of suspense.
Ghosts no themes of moonlight schemes
Does not ride the vague of dreams.
Nor does she promise endless joy.
Or toy with me in playful ploy.
She's there as solid as can be,
With all her glad and misery.
And I need her more and more,
As the years slide by, each score.
Her presence turns a key within.
With a wave, a smile, a simple grin.
She walks me, the abyss of fear.
And holds my hand and dries my tear.
She's the better half of my story
And I give her all the glory.
The essence of the mornings dawn.
I think, the reason I was born.
I cannot know the Lords plan but
He chose me, as the lucky man.