 against the mighty waves no care for lowly mindless slaves. The widow still in platitude sang praise to God for air and food.  But when they reached Heaven's throne The foolish found he was on his own. No jet, no boat or real estate himself stood trembling at the gate.  The angel beckoned to the one whose grace had overcome and won. The widow's faith all mattered then She'd run life's race right to the end.  Come tingle the length and breadth of my heart until I taste the tantalizing breath of that sacred feeling immortalized in love.  The agape kind of purple and red that knows no doubt nor in between. The kind that stops in the throat with no word to explain the heaving or sighing of the swallow even when the taste has left and the chocolate river no longer drowns the unmistakable taste of untainted love.  