Why do we disagree?

From the vast expanse of pale cream, a ray pierced the sill 

Some say that’s the epitome of ill. 

Never did she utter such trope 

And never did she hear a dawn's rising chirp. 

Sans a countenance that evoked despair or drivel, 

she did glide o'er cold Earth cavorting joy. 

Encumbered by the shooing words of a restless few 

and her held wish of an inside hue 

began she a ritual of healthy hoy. 

Words that gushed forth like water in a meadow’s pump, 

Though never held captive by a day's dump 

Did stem on a lad's cloy. 

To say that one impacted the other 

is to clutch a long straw with baby paw. 

Another ritual of a weekly shed 

Did in itself a worldly good 

To the lasses linked by blood. 

As do rays that die  

in ‘tensity to pierce, 

 So did her days die 

 through sleep's propensity to reassess. 

Wished I of activities that unwaste my youth 

Wished she of leisure that was her joy's hearth. 

And so, our saga of disagreement attains troth.