The lovers come

The lovers come
From sandalwood rooms heavy with the scent of wax
From the confusion of crowded tenements
From mansions high on hills of green

They come
From silent streets down narrow alleys
From cities alive with neon breath.
From small farms in fertile valleys.

They come.
Some smiling and singing of tomorrow
Some reluctantly and in fear
Some quietly and with reverence.

They come
And stand silently at the altar
And now our lives are made as one
And now our lives are made as one.