Promises have no small print.
They are to be weighed with care.
They are not mere words spoken.
They prove only truth not dare.

They act as a sacrament:
A foundation set in stone:
Love’s finger codes each of them,
Fate makes each of them atone.

They are providential:
They become subject to suit
Even the smallest flower,
When it was yet just a root.

Promises are marks of love,
Just hunger is what they ease.
They mark a higher power,
For hope is what they increase.