There was once a boy so filled with hate, that even in death he sought out Fate.

  He asked the God to recreate, another for his soul to take. Fate laughed and cried, his love irate, then made her gold, and lined innate.

   She bore him sons, she lost him eight, for which Fate hoped he would abate.

  But he tore her blue, turned green with envy, and cursed her to a life less friendly. He held her down, damned sick with frenzy, and she cried out to her God, 'Please, end me!'

  Fate watched her die one thousand times, she begged him save her from his crimes. He held her close, to dull the times, she returned to him, voice like a chime.

  She spoke so soft, Fate feared he may, lose hold of her in disarray. She'd fall from force, bright as the day, and fleeting as the morning may.

  Her bones grew bloody, her skin turned grey, and with the leaves she did decay.

  There was once a boy so filled with hate, and gifted free a God-given mate. Left alone and scorned by Fate, envy became his only trait.