There was once a mother who would always sing,
"Praises be unto our King"
When troubles soar beyond the point to bear,
To the altar of her king, she always draws near.
The road was rough, the pressure was high,
But it wasn't an hinderance to lift her hands towards the sky.
With that man, she craved no better relation,
As she count it all joy in divers temptation.
A double minded man is unstable in all is ways,
But she looked to the hills whence cometh her help as she prays.
She hath had enough, felt she would die,
She spoke many languages in the form of her cries.
Her body is the temple of God, and as such she kept,
Even if it means constant trails, in which she wept.
So regardless of the situation, that sometimes might sting,
Be like that mother, Sing praises unto your king.

~Tremar Ivey~