His life had no gist
Nevertheless, plenty of bane

By the time, she was at hand
The poor man, was half-insane

Her purple hair
His befuddled heart

Were made on behalf of, each other
Right from the start

Showing him, how
To be himself

Still fearful, but
Bold—with moral stealth

People tore her up
Without a break, He held her hand

And listened, yet
He couldn’t understand

Her nails were black
But she—so clear

Teasing her, shoddily
Why-- to his dear?

No real insight
Of who she was

What she meant
Everything she stood for, was so right

Together, they changed
The wintry dry race

Into people with core
People with a base

Who fear, not, the different
But the same

To walk around with dignity
Freed from their shame