He made two types of people,
Some were made, in his work shop,
Others by his blessed hands,
You were certainly created by his superb hands.
Beauty so perfect, Brighter then moon,
Perfection that, Perfection defines,
In your beauty, I see the touch of divine,
You are the best of wine.
Yet he loves all his creation,
Always forever for sure,
Not a finger can I ever raise,
For his Love is surely pure.