Seven Years

Ten virgins

Standing, all in a row

Five and five and all aglow.

A number of gifts to offer the groom

A number of lamps to light the room

As often is true,

The worth of a soul

Was a thing to be sold

For a number of things

But nothing like gold

Or rubies and such,

Perhaps a little pyrite.

With no sign of a fight

And the night

Was so dark.

Speaking of numbers,

Three years ago,

Or three years and some

I bore little warrior

Number one.

And the last shall be first,

And the first shall be last,

And it may not make sense to actuarial math

But actually,

7 years later,

The price of a ruby

Has nothing on me.