She sees her man is going , lives with strain
She wants to make it right, yet is not God
He has not found the peace some men attain
By now his choices and his will have gone
He has chosen his own measuring rod
She sees her man is dying, sees his strain
She has killed the snake of bitter pain
And let her mercy flow like menstrual blood
He has not gained the peace my man attained
She will stand back from this ruined reign
And must hope to make her giving good
She sees her man is dying, what restraint.
The goodness of his death’s not hers to coin
Only her containment of his flood
He cannot find much peace of mind again
She has made a frame; her kindness, wood.
And by this doing, her own grief withstood
She sees her man is dying and he’s strained
He’s not dreamed the peace they may attain
How my heart sings 